Home on the Rangeman
by Elenimou
Summary: Carlos Manoso was declared dead and buried at Arlington Cemetery in Washington. But he didn't die. He and Stephanie have completely changed their lives and now live on a secluded ranch. Unfortunately, dangers from the past intrude on their idyllic life.
1. Chapter 1

Home on the Rangeman

This is a sequel to "Devastation and New Start." I suggest reading the first story, but if you don't, I've tried to cover the basics in this story's first chapter.

Carlos Manoso was declared dead and buried at Arlington Cemetery in Washington. But he didn't die. He and Stephanie have completely changed their lives and now live on a secluded ranch. Unfortunately, dangers from the past intrude on their idyllic life.

Due to Ranger's name change and the "bad guy's'" many aliases, you might get confused.

The Cast of Characters:

**Carlos Manoso**, Ranger was declared dead. He now goes by the name Enrique Delgado. Stephanie calls him Rick.

**Stephanie Plum** is now Stephanie Delgado. She and Rick are married.

**Jose Castillo**, Butler Security agent, is Stephanie's pseudo-husband who goes by the name Enrique Delgado when Mr. and Mrs. Delgado are in public together. He bears a remarkable resemblance to the former Carlos Manoso.

**The bad guy** has many names: Salem Albadar, Silvio Alberra, Jules Armand, Samuel L. Bardora, and Amal. B. Dorales. Many are anagrams of Salem Albadar, his original name, we think.

* * *

**Chapter 1 Paradise**

My name is Stephanie. I've had many nicknames over the years; Trainwreck, Cupcake, Bombshell Bounty Hunter, Babe and a string of vulgar terms used by people who resented my work. I was once a bond apprehension agent or bounty hunter if you prefer. Initially, I was horrible at bringing in the fugitives. Either by accident or sheer perseverance, I began to have success. I avoided getting training to aid me as I didn't want others to think I was incompetent. I honestly thought I was a pretty good bounty hunter as my capture rate was near 100%. Granted my expenditures were often higher than the money collected due to ruined clothes, destroyed cars, and public spending on police and fireman call-outs, but that's another story.

I was born and raised in a section of southern Trenton, New Jersey known as Chambersburg. Ethnically Chambersburg was once very Italian. Even those without Italian olive oil running through their veins adopted Italian ways such as hand gestures, expressive words, and food. People there knew the difference between cannoli and cannelloni.

From 1872 to 1888 Chambersburg was an independent community until annexed into Trenton. John A. Roebling famous for building the Brooklyn Bridge in New York began a wire company in 1849 which continued until 1974. Steel used in the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco came from the Roebling factory.

In the Burg, women married young and were judged by their domestic skills. One's social standing depended on house cleanliness including the windows, one's ability in the kitchen especially with ziti, freshly ironed clothes, and clean appropriately dressed children. Church attendance was mandatory for wives and children.

Husbands stayed home from church to read the Sunday paper or to tinker with their cars. Their church was often membership in Knights of Columbus, a fraternal organization or drinking society. I never knew the difference. A husband's contribution to the family was to sire children and provide a paycheck.

Boys were princes and could do no wrong. If they did, their actions were summed up with a simple "boys will be boys." Girls were kept on a short leash and trained to be nuns, school teachers, nurses, with the highest calling being wives and mothers. I often felt I was dropped into the Burg from an alien planet as such a lifestyle was not for me disappointing my family, friends, and others.

After college and the quickest marriage/divorce in Burg history, I was still attached to the Burg guinzaglio, leash. Instead of having a respectable job, I fell into bounty hunting for my despicable cousin Vincent Plum. When it came to finding a new husband, I had not one but two boyfriends. None of us made a move to the altar.

I left the Burg almost five years ago, devastated when my world crashed down about me. The two love interests in my life died within several weeks of one another.

Ricardo Carlos Manoso, Ranger, died in some remote jungle on a secret government mission. He had always told me it could happen which was why he never wanted a committed relationship with me. We were "friends," at least that's what we said to other people and perhaps ourselves.

Carlos Manoso was buried at Arlington Cemetery, and a memorial plaque placed at the Manoso family crypt in Newark. I remember very little about Ranger's funeral. I vaguely remember all the military uniforms. As the time neared for the gun salute, Tank, Ranger's second in command at Rangeman Trenton and best friend, held me tight to his chest. That single compassionate task kept me from completely falling apart.

Weeks later, Joseph Anthony Morelli, the Trenton Police Detective and original the bane of my existence but then my boyfriend, perished in an airplane accident in Alaska. Joe, my mother, and most of the Burg believed I was destined to marry Joe and bear a new generation of Morellis. I was never wholly committed to the plan.

Joe's funeral had a casket, but no grave. There was nothing to bury, and the Morelli family couldn't see spending money on burying an empty coffin. After the service, the casket was returned to the mortuary. Once again the ceremony ended with a gun salute and once again Tank carefully pulled me to his chest. I was numb, no tears this time.

Immediately I heard, "Stupid Stephanie if she had married Joe like she was supposed to, she would have his house and life insurance." My mother almost began finding some new sucker to woe me. I had to leave Trenton. No longer could I face all the gossip and memories. I moved to Albuquerque, New Mexico to work for Butler Security.

It wasn't until I had moved across the country did I learn both Joe and Ranger were still alive. Joe had a new life, wife, and adopted daughter under the WITSEC program, witness protection. His undercover operation was blown apart by Burg gossip, and he was nearly killed.

Severely injured and near death, Carlos Manoso was brought back to the US under a new identity. Poisoned, but his organs functioned. The rest of his body didn't. He did not respond to touch, sound or even light. However, he was aware of being trapped internal blackness. Day after day, week after week, month after month he was unable to see, move or communicate.

One of his government handlers, Angela Manoso Butler and owner of Butler Security, rescued him and brought him to the VA hospital in Albuquerque. I didn't learn Angela's maiden name until nearly a year after I went to work for her.

To convince the world Carlos Manoso was dead; Angela gave him a new identity Enrique Delgado. The doctors did not know what caused his condition and had no treatment. All assumed he would die without regaining consciousness. Until his heart quite beating, he would remain in the hospital, his real identity known to four people: Angela and her husband Nick Butler, Tank, and Bobby in Trenton. Even is cousin Lester Santos did not know of the deception.

When my emotional health improved, Angela devised a plan for Bob the Dog and I to discover Enrique Delgado at the VA hospital as participants in the pet therapy program. Imagine my shock finding Ranger somewhat alive. My goal became bringing him back to the living. As he woke, I was there to comfort and encourage him.

After many months of rehabilitation, Ranger recovered, left the hospital and began his new life as Enrique Delgado. We married and lived briefly in Albuquerque, but moved to a ranch in southwestern Colorado to minimize his public exposure. Rick could not take the chance he would be seen and identified as Carlos Manoso. While the ranch was extraordinarily lovely, we wanted more room and more privacy. The Colorado San Juans Mountains are a haven for off-roaders, hunters, movie companies, hikers. We found solitude in Northwestern Colorado in a little-known valley, our own Shangri-La. Rick continues to be protected by Angela. Our ranch foreman is Steve Marchand, formerly with Butler Security. Jose Costillo, still a Butler employee becomes Enrique Delgado whenever Rick needs to be seen away from the ranch. My father also knows Rick is the former Carlos Manoso.

Daddy stumbled onto our secret when my mother hounded him to check up on their wayward daughter. No way would Helen Plum leave Trenton especially when she misunderstood Daddy and believed I lived in Mexico, not NEW Mexico.

Daddy came alone. Enrique/Rick/Ranger hadn't been out of the hospital long before Daddy appeared. Enrique was skinnier and had a beard, but my father recognized him. Raised in the Italian area of Trenton where the Mob was strong years before; my father knew how to keep his mouth shut. Also, my father was a former Army Green Beret and felt it was his duty to protect a fellow Army Special Forces soldier.

Rick and I married. At first, I continued to use the name Plum in case I needed to return to New Jersey. I don't know why I wanted to hold onto Plum. It brought me so much misery back in Trenton. I never traveled back, so when we moved to southern Colorado, I began using my legal married name, Delgado. New Mexico and Albuquerque were entirely different than Trenton. This former Jersey-girl was indeed a fish out of the water.

Now in rural Colorado, I am in a whole new universe where asphalt and tall buildings don't exist. Trenton pollution thick enough to make your lungs ache is gone, replaced with thousands of acres of vast-openness, towering trees, and mountains that hold snow until July. The sky is so blue it seems alien to someone born and raised in the grey-blue sky along the Atlantic coast. The night sky is ablaze with stars. I never knew so many were up there and never saw the Milky Way, not even on the Point Pleasant beach at night.

It is a solitary life but heart bustin' joyous when your only companion is a man you genuinely love and thought was gone forever. Is it a boring life without the distractions of civilization? Only if I let it be. I remember my mother's neighbor Mrs. Markowitz baked coffee cakes every day as she had nothing else in her life. Though she lived in a metropolitan area, she had closed her mind and heart to the world. Here every day is a new often unexpected experience. The unexpected is what this former Bombshell Bounty Hunter thrived on. Instead of chasing Trenton's scum through landfills, garbage or having my cars blown up, now I muck out at barn if I need an odoriferous experience. I no longer catch fugitives. I hunt down wayward cattle or catch trout in the many lakes and streams on our property. I don't rely on Boston cream doughnuts for happiness and haven't had a car or truck explode since leaving Trenton.

My family home was a narrow, 1,000 square feet, two-story Trenton duplex. Here we live in a 10,000 square feet house of massive Ponderosa pine logs, open floor plan, high vaulted ceilings, moss-rock fireplace, and hardwood floors. Jaw dropping mountain views are out all windows. The back porch has a large spa for soaking weary bones after a hard day tending the ranch. The front porch rocking chairs face a magnificent view of the valley below and incredible sunsets. At day's end, we sit and watch wildlife. The quiet washes away all the day's problems, if the cattle aren't near. They can be noisy. I never knew Ranger to relax. Here Rick will sit with his small smile to drink in a life he never envisioned.

The titled part of the ranch that is the part we and the bank own is 5,000 acres. We have permits graze the cattle on the adjourning 7,000 acres of Forest Service and BLM lands. If Rick wasn't so insistent on privacy, we could be running a public dude ranch. In reality, the one dude here is enough for me. The nearest neighbor is 10 miles from us. It is mind-blowing for someone raised in Trenton where homes touch one another and yards are nonexistent.

We have cattle though Rick tells me we can have more. Right now he wants to stay small. Having more animals means more workers and less privacy. The four of us can handle the work. Since Rick and I are still learning the business, we rely heavily on our ranch foreman, Steve Marchand. Steve was born and raised on a Texas cattle ranch, former Navy SEAL, and "former" Butler Security employee. I know he is also here as a guard hired by Angela and Rick, but it doesn't bother me anymore. Steve was my mentor when I worked for Butler Security in Albuquerque. His wife Catherine is our housekeeper, cook, sometimes ranch hand, and a former Marine. Rick insists all employees have military training. Good thing I'm his wife, otherwise I don't qualify to be near him.

That's not to say I've remained ignorant of the need for personal safety. Rick, Steve, and Catherine have badgered me into learning how to use various weapons. The bad guys here come with four legs and big teeth, like mountain lions.

Catherine has also taught me hand-to-hand combat. I was always a scrapper. One of my first take-downs was Kenny Mancuso outside Stiva's funeral home. It wasn't pretty. Finally, Joe Morelli finished Kenny off with a right hook, something I'd perfect later in my fugitive apprehension career. Rick misses sparring with Tank in the Rangeman gym. While Steve is an excellent alternative, I've learned enough to make adult wrestling part of our sexual foreplay.

The ranch spans elevation ranges from 7,000 to 11,000 feet, the plant species vary. Initially, I didn't know one plant's name, but over time I've learned most. If you told me five years ago I would study botany while living on a ranch in Colorado; I would have laughed. My studies began when Rick and I reclined on a bed of dark green stuff while we cloud-gazed. Yes, Rick, the former high-strung Ranger knows how to kick back and relax. The unknown vegetation we were upon had exquisite tiny bell flowers. That started my interest. A paperback copy of the Rocky Mountain Wildflower field guide identified the plant as kinnickinnick. In one of my forays into civilization, I stopped by the botanic garden in Grand Junction and sat in on a class on collecting, preserving, and identifying wildflowers. Pictures in books aren't detailed enough for identification, but handling and mounting the flowers on archival paper have further ingrained them into my mind.

As a sideline, I've also been studying pharmaceutical plants. I'm not interested in experimenting. I've found learning about medicinal plants is fascinating. Maybe there's a bit of me that wants to know what poison affected Rick. Since he was in the jungle, was the poison plant-based?

I took chemistry in high school and college enjoying deciphering and balancing formulas. It was the labs that gave me trouble. The graduate assistant leading the labs always kept the fire extinguisher near-by. I knew I'd never become a chemist, but the mental challenge and discovery were captivating. I switched to business but didn't apply myself. I got my degree without causing my father any more tuition payments. In my studies now, all the chemical terms have come back to me. Who knows, in a past life I might have been a chemist or witch.

Another interest is the wildlife on the ranch. Here are animals here I never knew existed. The biggest is the elk, think deer or even reindeer on steroids. The males make weird sounds in the fall as they gather a harem for mating. The deer are more abundant than in New Jersey. I've seen bighorn sheep high in the mountains on impossibly steep slopes. We see eagles in the skies above the rivers. Beaver and fish are in the rivers. Bears are numerous but keep their distance, mostly. When food is scarce, they come around. Coyotes occasionally pretty on the very young calves, though they would instead catch and consume ground squirrels. Their distinctive calls are heard from mid-spring to late fall. The pups are real chatterers. Wolves are in the area, but I've only heard them. Wolverines are scare, thankfully. Rick and I stopped the pickup one day to admire the wolverine beside the road. The little devil waddled to the truck and attacked the tire. Rick drove off, and the tenacious wolverine hung tight for several tire revolutions. Thump, thump. We stopped to watch the animal wandered off back into the forest apparently unharmed. Smaller animals such as skunks and porcupines keep Bob and Jacob, the two Golden Retrievers on their toes.

Bob Dog was co-owned by Joe Morelli and me. When Joe "died" Bob came to me. Jacob was a former champion show dog belonging to my landlord in Albuquerque. He and Bob were such friends and working companions in pet therapy, he was given to me, or actually to Bob. Both are urban dogs and find the wildlife here difficult. Jacob has figured out the skunks are not kitties to play with, Bob is still learning. Far too many mornings have begun bathing one or both of the dogs as they encountered the striped "kitty" on their early morning bathroom run. The spray is six different compounds, all sulfur hydrogen based, similar to rotten eggs only a thousand times worse. Tomato juice does not work at all to remove the stench. After cleaning, the secondary compounds, the thiol acetates, can be triggered each time the dog gets damp renewing the smell. We keep fresh hydrogen peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap at the ready as we've found it is the only solution for skunk stink.

Yeah, that's me, the former Bombshell Bounty Hunter spouting off words like thiol acetates. Each day is a new adventure, and best of all, nobody is bombing my apartment, my car hasn't burned, and though there are no Boston cream doughnuts, I have the most delicious husband to savor every day.


	2. Chapter 2 Roundup

This chapter is short. I don't know about future ones, I'm a little burned out on longs ones for awhile.

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**Chapter 2 Roundup**

Each day on the ranch I learn something new I would have never learned in my previous life. As a young girl in Trenton, I wanted to go to summer camp. But my mother assured me good Burg girls did not sleep on the ground or in cots in a tent, piss in a rustic toilet, and go days without bathing. So imagine my surprise when Rick informed me we were going to "rough it" for two days. We live in a lovely home with our comfortable bed and down comforter, and double size shower and we were going to sleep on the ground, piss in a hole in the ground, and go two days without bathing. "Why? I asked succinctly.

"The cattle need to be brought down from the high meadows," he answered with a smile.

"So call them, "Here Cows!"

Rick laughed a relaxed laugh he never had in Trenton, "These are range cattle, Babe. They are untrained and not used to man."

"You think they are used to women instead?" I sassed back. "OK, they are wild, dangerous animals. How does one get them moving?" I thought it was a logical question.

"Do you remember the song "_Head em up, move em out, rawhide_?"

"No."

"Babe, "Rawhide" was a popular television western in the late '50s and early '60s. Clint Eastwood portrayed Rowdy Yates."

"Rick, you and I weren't even born then."

"You didn't watch reruns?"

"Not westerns. I was more into Batman reruns. Seriously Rick, how am I, a city girl, going to handle an animal the size of a pickup truck?"

He leaned back against the kitchen counter, crossed his great legs. The muscled arms were crossed over his once again deep chest. It took several years before Rick totally recovered from the poisoning, but he's back in exemplary form once again. "It's time for Cowboy 101. First, we have to find them. They have been free in the high meadows all summer, so they've wandered a bit. We'll coerce them back into a herd. Then the next we'll drive them down to Bailey meadow."

"How many will fit in a pick-up?" I assumed we would use a truck as I'd not want any cow pies in my SUV.

He looked at me not knowing if I was kidding. "We'll be on horseback encouraging them to move from one location to another."

I nodded though I wasn't sure about ME on horseback among those giant animals.

"Are they easily coerced?"

"Not initially," he answered with a smile. "We will camp overnight with the herd and…"

I interrupted as I was horrified, "We will be camping among the not-so-coercible cattle the size of pickups?"

"Babe, we will be safely away from them. Now as I was saying, "We will camp NEAR them and use the horses the next day to drive the cattle to the loading pens and stock trailers."

I didn't think he meant the horses would be driving the trucks, but I wasn't going to ask. "So, where will I be the first night?"

"You will be in a tent."

"Will we be sleeping on the ground?"

"Bringing up cots would be too bulky even for pack horses." The best we could do is some foam pads under the sleeping bags."

"Where will we eat? Will we return home for meals?"

"We will cook our meals as you did in scout camp."

"Burg girls don't go to scout camp."

"Think BBQ over an open fire instead of hot metal propane powered container."

Each time I've tried to cook over an open flame, the food caught fire and fell through the grill. "Who is cooking? It won't be me."

"Catherine will probably do the cooking, but Steve and I know our ways around campfires. The military didn't want us eating MRE's all the time."

I could envision BBQ brisket, cole slaw, potato salad, peach pie, and freshly churned ice cream. Wait, how would the ice cream stay cold? Before I could ask the question, Rick spoke up, "I'll even have Sa'mores for you."

"DEAL!" The man knows how to speak to my heart.

Thus began the first great cattle roundup. The horses were stowed in their trailer, our gear went into the pickups. My duffel bag was sent back to the closet. At best I could take one change of clothes for emergencies. Hair appliances would be useless without electricity.

"I won't be washing my hair?" I gasped.

"You could dip your head in the mountain stream."

Since the high mountain stream water temperature might get to 40 degrees F by August, I decided not to remove my hat.

We had to get ourselves, our horses, horse trailers, pickups, the large cattle trailers and the super-size trucks to pull them into Bailey meadow. Years past the cowboys rode their horses the entire way driving them to something called a "railhead" in a railroad town maybe several hundred miles away. My backside ached thinking about the ride.

Once we reached the loading meadow, the humans attached the camping gear and food to pack horses. These were horses without riders. Instead, they carried our supplies. Catherine held onto the first horse's rein, and the other horses were tied behind in single file. It was like leading hand-holding preschool children along the trail. Except these "children" weighed close to a ¾-ton each. After mounting our horses, we started up the narrow road to the upper meadows. So far the experience was chaos followed by a leisurely horseback ride. I had not been up to this road before, so I trusted my horse not to step off the trail while I admired the view. The alternative was a petrified rider and nervous horse. When we reached the upper meadows, there wasn't a cow in sight.

"Ah, did we take a wrong turn or have they left?" I asked Rick.

"Babe, I see at least twenty from here. Do you need glasses?"

OK, I'm pushing hard on 40 years old but asked if I needed glasses was akin to asking if I was entering menopause. I was devastated by the question. Rick realized the error.

"Babe, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to insult you. You have to relax your eyes and let your brain and eyes search for unnatural forms. Our brown and black cattle are camouflaged by the plants."

Plants! I had my clue. My newly trained brain quickly spotted and names the plants: buffaloberry, cinquefoil, sage, cow, currant, cow, mountain mahogany. Ah, two cows!

Fanning out we looked for the most wayward cattle and urged them back to their friends. I had done this, more or less, in horseback riding training in the paddock near the barn. Now I understood why Rick insisted I learn the techniques. Fortunately, the horse knew more than I. My job was to indicate to the horse which cow to go after.

Steve, the foreman, was beside me as we saw several cattle outside the herd. "OK, Steph, time to be a cowgirl."

Remembering being told horses knew what to do, I pointed to one wayward steer and said, "Go get 'em" to the horse. The horse stood still, but Steve nearly fell from his saddle laughing.

"Steph," he said wiping his eyes, "Ride your horse above and behind the steer then slowly urge the steer to the herd. Your horse will figure out the rest."

The cattle were smart and soon realized I didn't know what I was doing. The horse only huffed at my ignorance and took off on his own to round up the stray bovine. I just hung on. Well, I tried to hang on. One steer wanted to test my horse with a game of chicken or stink-eye. They faced on another each moving to the side to counter the other's movement. I'm used to horses going forward, not rapidly dancing sideways. In one rapid direction change, I flew off. The horse looked at me as if to say, "Rookie." The steer took the opportunity to escape, no doubt laughing. When I tried to remount, the horse kept moving away. He didn't want me back atop his back. Rick took pity on me and came over to hold my pissed-off horse while I mounted.

I knew Rick had been laughing. His eyes were twinkling. "Are you hurt Babe?"

"No, just my pride."

When we had the cattle confined to several acres, I asked why we didn't use sheepdogs.

"They are cattle, Babe, not sheep. There is a big difference in intelligence. Sheep are more tame and docile than cattle. They can be herded. Range cattle are independent." It was a nice way of saying stubborn.

With the cattle contained, it was time for riders and horses to rest. It was too late in the day to get the herd down to the lower meadow. We moved away from the cattle to where Catherine had already begun setting up camp.

I thought I was in shape! When I got off of my horse, I hurt all over. I hobbled over to Catherine and asked about how a woman pees in the wilderness. "Find someplace private and squat."

The critical word was squat. That wasn't going to happen. Instead of figured out if you lean back and support yourself on a rock, the deed is done, hopefully not going down into your pants or boots.

I was really looking forward to beef brisket with all the trimmings for dinner. Instead, the meal was chili with too many beans, freshly baked cornbread, and fresh fruit. I was so hungry I didn't say a word as long as the growling stomach beast seemed satisfied. There were even S'mores, but I was too tired and sore to roast the marshmallow. I shoved the cracker, chocolate, and marshmallow into my mouth uncooked and called it done.

The men set up sleeping tents. Then the other three took turns guarding the cattle overnight. We didn't need them wandering away again or tramping over our tents. As a tenderfoot, a newbie, they let me sleep. I was too tired and sore to care Rick hadn't joined me. I woke at sunrise Rick was wrapped around me.

First order of the day was to deal with my other _Nature_ call. I hadn't seen a privy and was wondering what to do. Seeing my unrest, Rick handed me a garden hoe with a very short handle and a roll of toilet paper over the handle. My instructions were, "Dig a hole and cover it back up but don't squat over a rattlesnake." I looked for a private area and thought about rattlesnakes.

Breakfast was a biscuit, egg, fried Spam, and more fresh fruit. Years ago Ranger would not have polluted his body with canned meat unless it was for survival while on a military mission. Today he ate the Spam without complaint. I was so hungry I didn't care about salts and fat. Yeah, me Stephanie "I'll Eat Anything" Plum now at least acknowledges some food isn't good for me. That doesn't mean I always follow my knowledge, but it is harder to escape to the pastry shop when it's a 2-hour drive away.

When it came time to mount up and encourage the cattle down the road, my body protested. I learned long ago complaining accomplishes nothing. Maybe as a reward for my silence, Rick came up with a fluffy pillow and gently tucked it under me.

"I think I'm bruised," I whispered.

He smiled, "I'll kiss it and make it better, tonight."

Oh boy if that's not encouragement to get these _doggies_ down the mountain, then nothing else will. I looked at Steve for my assigned position in moving the cattle down the road.

Once the cattle were moving, we moved them at a slow, relaxed pace. The road helped. The cutback on the left and the steep drop to the right kept the animals from wanting to dash. Even a wily range cow isn't going to commit suicide leaping off a steep bank. The slower pace allowed me to enjoy the beauty surrounding us as I had on the trip up. The skies up here were clear. The highest mountain peaks already had a light dusting of snow. Aspens mixed among the evergreens were starting their autumn color display in brilliant golds and yellows. The smaller shrubs were showing berries or seed pods. The wildlife will have food for winter.

Our passage didn't go unnoticed. Ground squirrels sat back and watched us pass until an eagle appeared overhead. The little rodents quickly scurried to their burrows' safety. Even the black and white magpie's quieted down until the massive overhead predator left the area.

The cattle turned into Bailey meadow in the early afternoon. After sandwiches and plenty of water to wash the dust from our throats, the loading process began. Like cranky three-year-olds, the tired cattle weren't keen on entering a scary metal box to be packed like sardines. The only job I couldn't screw up was to quickly shut the loading chute gate to keep the reluctant beasts from backing out.

Once all the cattle were tucked safely away into their transportation, Rick and Steve drove the trailers to the pastures closer to the ranch house. Catherine and I drove the horses back to the barn.

The sun was low when the animals were secured. Catherine and I tended to the horses while the men were with the cattle. Our steeds were unsaddled, rubbed down, carefully examined for bruises and cuts, fed and watered. Saddles and gear were wiped off. Blankets hung to dry. Each was given their feed with little extra oats for a job well done.

"Steph, you did well for your first roundup," Catherine said sincerely. "You have one more job. Take the lasagna in the refrigerator and put it in the oven. Instructions are on the cover. Dinner will be in ninety minutes." I did a quick calculation in my head. Lasagna in the oven, shower, hair, dress, yeah I could do it.

My calculations were for naught. I had fallen asleep after the shower, not bothering with my hair or to dress. Rick found me naked, on the bed, completely uncovered. I woke to a lovely sight, my beautiful husband, fresh from the shower, a towel wrapped around his waist and a bottle of sore muscle lotion in his hands. "Your choice."

I knew what he was asking. I could have him massage the lotion onto my sore muscles or tend to my other far more personal needs. I swallowed my lust, "Liniment please."


	3. Chapter 3 Horse Ballet

**Chapter 3 Horse Ballet **

I love the ranch, but this former city girl needs a break occasionally. Once a month Bob, Jacob, Catherine and I drive several hours to Grand Junction. We participate in pet therapy programs and enjoy a day on the town doing women-stuff: beauty salon, spa, shopping, eating girl food. Before heading home, we purchase perishable groceries. We put the meat and dairy in a cooler packed with ice for the trip back. If we have the room, we also get some non-perishables in bulk. When the guys come to town, they also purchase groceries as well as anything else needed on the ranch. Running to the grocery store for forgotten items or ordering on line is not an option when you are 150 miles from the store.

Yes, I get a vacation now and then. Catherine and I have gone someplace special for up to a week. Rick is still careful about going out into the world again. The last trip girl's trip was to Cabo San Lucas in Mexico. I do not think I will ever outgrow my love of the ocean.

Not only is Catherine the only other woman on the ranch, but she is also bodyguard and friend. Long ago, I gave up fighting with Rick about bodyguards. Even though Carlos Manoso is officially dead and Rick tries to remain as low profile as possible, there is always the possibility someone will recognize me. The Bombshell Bounty Hunter's face and actions were a near constant entertainment source in the Trenton newspaper. If identified I might lead people back to Rick.

Mostly I enjoy staying home with my best friend and husband. We are still very touchy-feeling, preferring to spend hours in each other's arms than watching satellite television. For all our physical closeness, we do not have children together. The need to reproduce has never been in me. Rick has a daughter, Julie, he has not seen in years. She believes her father is dead. It pains Rick her not knowing he is still alive and the thought of bringing in more children to his life while abandoning Julie is agonizing. Moreover, schools, pediatricians, and dentists are two hours' away.

I am free to explore the ranch unaccompanied for mental time alone. However, now gone from the ranch house vicinity for more than two hours, I must travel with a companion or leave explicit details on where I am going and not deviate. Years past this would have caused a child-like tantrum, I called my rhino-mode. Since my scare, I no longer question the edict.

My epiphany began with me wanting to go fishing and needing my horse saddled. Mr. Grey is a big gelding, a male horse without his testicles. Not only is this horse magnificent to look at, grey like a summer rain cloud, he is also gentle.

"Rick, would you teach me how to saddle Mr. Grey?"

"Steve or Catherine will saddle him for you," Rick said distractedly with his head under the kitchen sink. Being out in the middle of nowhere means, you become good at DIY projects, do-it-yourself.

"I want to learn, so I don't have to bother them or you."

Rick pulled himself out from under the sink with his tiny smile. I could read his mind, "This ought to be interesting."

As we walked toward the barn, I began to regret my brash request. I knew how to put gas in the truck, add oil, and change a tire if it was a life or death situation. Why did I think I could learn how to saddle a horse?

After moving Mr. Grey to the saddling area, Rick placed two leads with snaps on the ends to Mr. Grey's halter. "This is to keep him from thrashing his head around. Once he trusts you know what you are doing, he will stand still."

I was still wary of my "pet" who as tall as I at his shoulders, though they call them something else, withers I think.

"This is the bridle, this part, the bit, goes in the mouth."

Did he mean teeth-braces for a horse? My second thought made me blush when I thought of my cousin Vinnie in Trenton and his alleged sexual preferences with gags and whips. Rick could still read my mind and body language. He smiled a secret smile saved for our intimate moments. My undies were getting damp. Quickly regaining my composure, "I thought the bridle only wrapped around the head. How does that fit in their mouth?"

"There's a space here, see, no teeth. You slide the bit in and put the harness over the head. You can leave the halter. Mr. Grey does not mind one way or another. For the time being keep the halter on since you are snapping him in place."

"How do I get that metal bar in his mouth?"

"You place the bit to his lips. He knows what is going on and will take it into his mouth. If it is cold, warm the bit in your hands first, even a horse dislikes cold metal in the mouth. If he's fussy, put your finger here in this open space. That makes him open his mouth take the bit and adjust it himself."

Yeah right, I thought. More likely, it will be like trying to give Bob or Jacob medicine. No matter what way I try to slip it down their throat, it flies out faster than it went in.

"Next put the reins over his head like this and adjust these straps over his ears."

Who wears buckles around their ears? There were several straps that I had no clue where they went, but Rick explained each and how to adjust them. I thought buckle boots were hard.

Next came the saddling. Maybe I should learn to ride without a saddle, bareback. "First brush down the horse's back and run your hand down to check for grit. You do not want to injure their skin with a pebble caught under the saddle. Imagine a stone in your boot," Rick explained.

"Then put the pad over the top to protect the back from the saddle. Pull the pad forward a bit from its final location. Once the saddle is on you can do final adjustments."

Next Rick showed me how to secure the far stirrup so it stayed clear when I "tossed" the saddle onto Mr. Grey. The key words were "toss" and "on to." Suddenly I wished I rode a pony, not a tall horse. The saddle weighed twenty-five pounds, but it was awkward.

"Just throw it over," Rick encouraged. Living on a ranch had increased my muscles, but I do not believe Rick meant throwing the saddle OVER the horse. It sailed completely over Mr. Grey and landed with a thud on the other side.

There was silence before Rick raised an eyebrow. I swear Rick and Mr. Grey were giggling.

"You said throw it over," I shrugged.

The second and third attempts earned a half-ass kick from the horse that did no harm but made me realize a hay bale might be a good step up to get the saddle onto the horse.

Once the saddle was on, it came time to take the broadband under the horse and buckle it tight, hence the same "cinch strap." Many horses have learned to hold their breath during this time so when they exhale the cinch is loose. A loose strap means when you step into the stirrup, the saddle slips down the horse's side.

The stirrup length was set for my legs, but Rick explained how they could be adjusted if necessary. The final step was the breast collar across the chest. "Steve doesn't use one of these on his horse." I pointed out.

"He believes if there is a problem, something breaks or comes undone he doesn't want his foot hung up in the stirrup while the saddle is still on the horse. Better the saddle and he leave together." Rick said.

"Yipes," I squeaked. "If Steve worries about trouble and not getting free, what are my chances?"

By the time I finished the breast collar and adjusting the cinch strap several times, I was exhausted and had no interest in riding. But, I did start the process and decided I'd I have to climb aboard. "I'm heading to Branson Creek," I said after securing my fishing equipment including a fishing rod, net, reel, creel, jacket, hat, two-way radio, cell phone, water, sandwich, and revolver. "Maybe I'll catch dinner."

Rick smiled knowing the chances of me catching enough trout were slim, "How long will you be gone?" He asked.

"Three hours tops unless I break off all the flies from my line first." He knew that was probable. Guiding the fishing fly and line to the spot on the water where the fish is hiding involves finesse. More often, I get excited and whip the line snapping the flies off.

Years ago in Trenton, I would never have volunteered where I was going as I considered it an invasion of my privacy. Here, the ranch is large. For safety sake, one does not run off without telling someone. Any communication can be hacked; walkie-talkies, cell phones, and trackers. We use walkie-talkies as necessary, but they require sight-to-sight antennas. The ranch's terrain is not often conducive to line of sight communications.

It was a lovely day as Mr. Grey worked his way towards Branson creek, following a path through the silvery-green sagebrush. The late summer purple asters were in bloom. Summer clouds topped the mountain peaks. It had rained overnight, and more precipitation was possible near the end of the day. I would have to pay attention to the weather. I knew not to be near the creek if I saw rain clouds upstream. Water rapidly flows downhill in the mountains. Instantly Branson Creek could be turned into a rapid flowing flash flood.

The trail started down steeply towards the bottom of the arroyo, or gully, to Branson Creek. Mr. Grey and I had been down this trail many times, so I was not paying attention. While I studied the stream trying to determine the best fishing location after the light rains overnight, something spooked my horse. He jumped straight up, twisted and by the time his hoofs were firmly on the ground again, I was flying through the air, reins still in my hands. When I landed on my back, all the air gushed from my lungs. The reins went flying. As I lay on the ground trying to suck in air, all I could see was Mr. Grey's tail heading back towards the ranch at full gallop. The poor horse appeared uninjured, only petrified.

Fortunately, I had landed more in a muddy area than bare rock. I assessed my physical condition and was sure was still in one piece, only bruised. All my body parts worked, more or less. The hat's smashed rim absorbed most of the fall, saving my head. Being thrown from a horse was not as scary as riding a rusted and collapsing fire escape to the ground as I had in Trenton.

Once I ascertained I was not a medical emergency, I realized the rest of my equipment; phone, two-way radio, handgun, water, jacket were on Mr. Grey heading back to the barn. The only option was to begin the long walk back to the ranch hoping the reason Grey spooked was not a mountain lion lurking near-by.

**Rick POV**

Steve and I heard the horse coming in full gallop. Mr. Grey, Babe's gelding, appeared without a rider, whinnying in agitation. We jumped down from the hay wagon and went to the horse at the water trough. He had already slurped up several gallons of water, so Steve pulled him away and began walking him to cool him down before letting him back to the trough. I noted Stephanie's weapon and holster tied to the saddle horn. The saddle bag held her other emergency gear including food and water. The fishing equipment remained behind the saddle. The only thing missing was Babe.

"Do you know where she went?" Steve asked.

"Branson Creek, I'll get Diablo," I replied without hesitation. It had been years since I felt the twinge in my gut, Babe was in trouble. How many times have I raced to the scene of one of her disasters? Often I pulled up to see her car in flames or recently doused by the fire department and Joe Morelli standing in front of her berating her for all to hear. Those were the minor scares. The major ones such as being by an insane military game enthusiast or suspended below the bridge and falling into the Delaware River. After each trauma, I'd hold her in my arms asking if she was hurt. The touching, the connection allowed each of us to settle down.

I raced into the paddock, grabbed Diablo and led him to the barn to saddle him. By the time he was ready, Steve had handed me Steph's jacket, radio, water, emergency kit, and a rifle. "I'll follow with the truck to the top of the canyon after I finish with Mr. Grey."

I wanted to spur Diablo to full gallop, but it would only wind him. We set off in a canter heading for Branson Creek. I watched Mr. Grey's hoof prints to determine where along Branson Creek Stephanie and horse separated. My mind ran with various scenarios, was she thrown and if she was how badly she was injured? Did an animal attack her; a mountain lion or bobcat? Bears stay away from human contact unless cubs were nearby. Or was it someone who from my past who had discovered I was not dead after all? We had surveillance on all incoming roads to the ranch house and barns, but there was no way to keep 5,000 acres patrolled.

Fortunately Mr. Grey traveled along soft, moist dirt making tracking easier through the dense sagebrush. Ahead was the drop into Branson creek. I stopped Diablo before we began our descent. He was anxious, pulling against the reins and dancing about. Perhaps he felt my fear. I urged him along slowly as I watched the trail yet also watching for danger. Suddenly a whistle pierced the air. I looked up. Seventy-five yards ahead stood my entire life, my wife. Limping slightly and with a crushed hat, she looked exasperated precisely like she would look so often in Trenton after her car blew up or she had rolled in the garbage. My heartbeat slowed down.

As she neared, she stopped and asked, "Uber?"

I smiled, "Are you hurt, Babe?" How often in our lives together have I asked that?

"No. Something spooked Mr. Grey. I didn't know horses could do a "_pas de basque._"

"You took ballet, Babe?"

"No, Valerie did, but I'm surprised you know the term."

"I had sisters. How do you think I learned to move so quickly? I had to run to keep away from their insistence I lift them into the air. Can you imagine what the gangs would have said about me learning ballet?"

I took my foot from a stirrup and extended my hand down. Steph put her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself up behind me wrapping her arms tightly around me. "Batman comes to the rescue once again, thank you," she whispered in my ear.

Turning Diablo around, we moved up to the crest of the trail, and I called Steve to tell him Stephanie was okay. Diablo suddenly shied and kicked twice. I had my hands full getting him back under control. Something bothered him. It was time to get away from Branson Creek and back home. Steve and I would return and look for mountain lion tracks or perhaps human tracks.

When we returned to the barn, Stephanie slid off Diablo and ran into the stall area. Steve was wrapping Mr. Grey's legs. "Is he hurt?"

"No, ma'am. Mr. Grey is a bit bruised and scraped. I've bathed him, rubbed him down and wrapped his legs. Let's give him a couple of days rest to let him recover."

Like a good horsewoman she went and wiped down the saddle and tack and hung the blanket to dry. "Has he been fed?"

"Yes, ma'am. I believe the horse is tucked up fine. You'd best tend yourself," Steve said with a smile noting her smashed hat and muddy clothes.

Turning back to me she said, "Since both horses spooked, I assume you will be going back to Branson with Steve. Before you go, let Catherine, and I know. We will hold down the fort."

This is her way of saying, "There may be trouble out there. Catherine and I will arm ourselves." I couldn't help but smile, Stephanie Plum and all her insecurities have disappeared. Babe has matured now that she is away from Trenton and especially the Burg. Constant criticism delayed her emotional development. I tried to encourage her, but she needed to find herself. It wasn't until Joe and I "died" did she throw off the Burg and move to New Mexico. Now she does not stumble into disasters but grabs life like grabbing the tail of a kite to be pulled skyward laughing and enjoying the view. How I would love to show her the world if only I were convinced the world had forgotten Carlos Manoso.

Running a ranch and a computer business was difficult, but hard work and long hours are what I thrive on. I had made a nice profit selling my computer wargames business and was able to purchase this ranch. I had another computer business plus our investments from Stephanie's inheritance from me. A cattle ranch is notoriously risky. I need outside investments along with the side business to allow us to continue to live this solitary life. I was deep into examining finances when suddenly the bell outside the back door rang.

"Babe, the back bell is ringing," I called over the second-floor balcony rail. "The dogs want in. Are you closer to the door?"

She emerged from a room underneath the balcony folding a towel, "I thought the dogs were inside." We taught Bob and Jacob to tug a rope attached to a swinging cast iron bell when they wanted inside.

I checked the front gate security and motion sensors. Nothing had come in undetected. In the meantime, Steph went to the back door and opened it thinking the dogs were outside. I heard a squeal and Steph loudly exclaiming, "No, no, no, you can't come in." The dogs ran from elsewhere in the house into the kitchen barking loudly. I grabbed a gun and went to the balcony rail fearing someone from my past had found us. The sound on the floor was strange and as I raised my weapon, Corky the latest colt came into view.

Corky was foaled just months before and was adopted by our two golden retrievers. Both dogs are horse-shy but quickly adapted to the young foal. The colt soon proved to be trouble, opening latches and crawling under or through fences. One day Steve found the horse snoozing next to the dogs on the elevated back deck. Going up the steps was no problem. The coming down was contrary to the colt's joints. It took four humans to convince the troublesome horse he could negotiate the steps.

Corky looked around the kitchen and then up at me on the balcony, "I came to see where Bob and Jacob live." He proceeded to walk into the living room to check out the couches before we could turn him back to the back door. Since his visit, Corky continues to attempt to enter the dogs' and humans' house by the kitchen door, through window screens and has even come to the front door only to leave his brand of Girl Scout cookies behind. He would much rather be with the dogs and humans than the other horses.

One morning I was outside near the house when the dogs started barking incessantly in an alternating staccato inside the house. Our laid-back retrievers rarely put on such a display. Stephanie let them out. Immediately the dogs shot off towards the lower meadow. "Rick, something's wrong," Stephanie called.

A simple sentence like that can have significant consequences. Fearing the dogs were going after a large predator, I grabbed a rifle and headed for the ATV in the auxiliary barn. The ATV engine was already warm by the time Stephanie jumped in with her Glock strapped to her thigh. We raced through the yard following the dogs' voices coming from the meadow below. Our big tires helped keep us from bogging down in the wet field. Unusually heavy snows through the winter had the steam flowing over its banks saturating the pasture. The two dogs and their equine buddy, Corky, were caught in the muck. How Corky had gotten through the fence wasn't a concern right now, saving him and the dogs from the mud were paramount.

I tied a rope around myself and the other end to the ATV. "Wait here, Babe. I'm going to wade in and free the dogs. Pull me out if I get stuck." Stephanie had several small rope sections to leash the dogs when freed so they wouldn't run back into the muck. She also took out the two-way radio and called Steve hoping he was within range and could help.

I was able to get the dogs out without too much swearing and effort and carried them to the ATV where they were secured. They were caked in dark muck from their paws up to their withers. They didn't resist. They were cold, tired, and frightened. When Steve and his wife Catherine arrived, they joined me in the muck to remove Corky.

It ended up taking all four of us in the muck to get the colt out. A pair of boots nearly disappeared. Several times I thought my Wranglers might be next. Once free we put the horse into Steve's pickup bed while Catherine and Stephanie held the poor tired animal for the ride back to the barn. I drove the ATV with the secured dogs. Steve and Catherine bathed and rubbed down Corky and put him in the barn with extra ties around the posts to keep him from opening the latch. He had no interest in escaping again. He curled up in the straw and went to sleep. Stephanie and I tended the muddy dogs. When the animals were clean and dry, the four uprights adjourned to the large hot tub, stripped down and settled in for a long soothing soak. We would fence off the lower meadow tomorrow.

The spunky colt was getting himself into more mischief and mishaps than a typical horse. Like a former bounty hunter in New Jersey, Corky was becoming a handful. I wondered if my wife's former Duendes, mythical mischief-makers, had followed her from Trenton and were in communion with Corky.


	4. Chapter 4 Return

Chapter 4 Return

**Steph POV**

Word came from Trenton that my mother died suddenly. I debated long and hard about not going to the funeral but knew my father would expect me. Jose Castillo, my former partner at Butler Security in Albuquerque, would be my pseudo-husband for the trip. To the rest of the world, Carlos Manoso was dead. Jose was traveling under the name of Enrique Delgado, Carlos' new identity. He greatly resembled Rick, nearly the same height, similar latte mocha skin, straight hair, and he now wore it short like Rick's. While Rick and I were known around the area, we did not want to travel together much beyond our safety zone.

Jose's new beard matched Rick's hiding the differences in jawlines. His walk was not like Rick's panther movement, but more rolling. Rick and I discussed his returning to Trenton in his new appearance, but he could not risk someone running fingerprints or DNA analysis. Jose would accompany me.

Jose had arrived several days before our scheduled departure. He came bearing information for Rick and Steve that required them to be in Albuquerque early. They drove to Denver and flew south. Jose and I would follow the next day. We checked into an Albuquerque hotel. At 10 pm Nick and Angela Butler along with Rick and Steve came to our suite. Something was up, far beyond my mother's passing.

Rick hugged me before beginning the discussion. "Babe, what we've feared has occurred."

I knew someone from Rick's past as Ranger Manoso had appeared. I nodded signaling him to proceed.

"Silvio Alberra."

"Who is he," I asked calmly.

"The bastard that poisoned your husband several years ago," Nick answered quietly.

Nick turned to Ranger, "Do you want her to know?"

Before Rick could answer, I jumped in, "Rick, you are in danger, I need to know."

"It may put you in danger Babe."

"Then I need to know. I'm not the BBH anymore."

Rick nodded. Bombshell Bounty Hunter was long gone. Over the years he has been training me in situational awareness, and at the same time, I've matured. I'm not the same irresponsible...what was it Joe called me? Train wreck. We may not know ahead of time what dangers may be lurking so I understand the need for caution.

Angela continued. "We believe his real name is Salem Albadar. Though we cannot confirm, it appears he is Syrian. He also uses the names Jules Armand and Silvio Alberra. The latter one when he is in Central and South America, the French name when he is in Canada, Africa or Europe. If he has a name for Asia, we don't know it."

"Where did he show up?" I asked.

"Canada. He came in as Jules Armand. From Montreal, he moved west into the Prairie Provinces and disappeared. We believe he crossed the border somewhere in North Dakota or eastern Montana. Border security in that area is low to almost nonexistent."

"Why didn't he come into the US through an airport or harbor?" I asked.

"He's a terrorist and on watch lists. He's not risking facial recognition software in our airports identifying him," Angela answered.

"Is this a common entry method for troublemakers?"

"More than you know," she sighed.

"Has he been seen since he came south across the border?" Rick asked.

"We have a possible sighting in Ohio, but nothing definite. Several agencies are watching for him," Nick answered.

"How long ago did he cross over?" I asked calmly. The more information I had the better I could process it.

Angela looked upset, "Too damn long. He came across thirteen days ago."

"And you are just getting to us?" Rick snapped.

"It wasn't my delay. I came across the information researching something else. I made some calls and wasn't lady-like when I chewed asses."

Rick had seen Angela in her non-lady-like moods and respected her ardor. "There's no reason for him to come this way unless he suspects I'm alive. More likely, he is cleaning up past missions. Years ago, in my first encounter with him, I was not alone. Lester and two other Special Forces were with me."

"Turner and Brock?" Angela asked.

Rick nodded.

"Brock is gone," Angela replied.

"Is that confirmed?" Ranger asked.

"Yes, he was killed in a car accident in Germany two years ago. He lived a few hours before he died, identification was positive. He was not a target. He was in the wrong place."

"Where's Turner?"

"He has been working for the Houston Police Department. He failed to report one morning, just disappeared. His car, his apartment, bank account, and credit cards all remain untouched for five months."

"Did he have any problems with the job?"

"None, he kept a clean life, isn't married, no serious relationships."

"Apparently Salem is moving east towards Trenton. Lester must be protected and relocated," Rick said.

"Stephanie going to Trenton should be reevaluated," added Nick.

Walking over to me and putting his hands on my shoulder Rick began, "Babe, I'd rather you not go to your mother's funeral. I don't want him to know about you."

"I understand and Daddy might as well, but not Valerie. I'm sure Daddy has told her some story, but not the truth about us."

"Silvio/Salem may only be after Lester and not even know about Stephanie," Angela added.

Nick nodded. "But if he gets Lester and tortures him, he might discover she has moved out west."

Ranger shook his head, "Lester only knows about her moving to Albuquerque, not Colorado. He might come after Angela and you, Nick thinking you know more about Stephanie."

"We could use her to draw Albadar out," Angela offered. "And end this once and for all."

Rick shook his head, "I don't want to use Stephanie as bait."

"But if he gets Lester, she, Nick, and I are in danger. Ultimately Silvio/Salem would find her, use his drugs, and she ends up indicating you are still alive."

"My instincts say we turn around and go home, but I can't risk Les. I want that bastard Salem dead once and for all," Rick sighed. He looked at me, "Sorry Babe, now you understand why I was not into relationships before. The past has a way of coming back and biting you."

"Rick, life with you has been incredible," I began. "I do not regret any of it. If Ranger's girlfriend has to make an appearance for a distraction to save Lester, I am ready. The only thing I regret is my mother did not have the decency to die when New Jersey is livable. Can you imagine what my hair will do in the mid-summer humidity?"

**-0-**

My trip to Trenton with my pseudo-husband Enrique was going via Washington DC. Angela set up a meeting with someone who would give us more information on Salem Albadar and all his various names.

As we left the plane, two men stepped forward, "Mr. and Mrs. Delgado?" My pseudo-husband, Jose, stepped forward and requested ID and confirmation. The two men passed.

We drove to a building in Maryland sitting. The trees partially hid the imposing setting. Indoors two more individuals escorted us into an elevator, through electronically controlled locking doors, down a hall. In my mind, I heard the theme music to "Get Smart," the old TV comedy. I may not remember "Rawhide," but I did remember "Get Smart" reruns. If we neared a telephone booth, I would run. It was doubtful though, who has recently seen a telephone booth?

Once through another door, we were in an average size office with threadbare carpeting. The large window overlooked the woods beyond. A middle age woman stood up from behind her desk and greeted us. She was dark skinned, average height and size. "Stephanie, Jose, I hope you had a good trip."

Had I not perfected my stone face from Rick, I would have shown surprise Jose was called by his proper name and not Enrique.

"Ma'am," Jose answered.

"Mrs. Delgado, Stephanie, I am known as Aunt Madge. I was one of Carlos Manoso's handlers. You have every right to smash me in the face for all the crap we put you through years ago, but Carlos' was our nation's very best Special Ops contractor. We called upon him often, maybe too often. He never expected to live to see forty. He was right. I am sorry."

I had no idea if this woman was playing me or believed Carlos was dead. "Ma'am, I'm at a loss why we are here." I was staying in character until I knew more.

Jose spun me towards him, looked contrite but stared into my eyes, "Steph, I have done work for Aunt Madge from time to time. Enrique Delgado is my cover name. I can be two places at once, with you as your husband Enrique and in Albuquerque and elsewhere as Jose."

Dump a load on me! I had to react quickly and correctly. Jose's intense stare let me know this was all a ploy over Aunt Madge. "So is there a Mrs. Jose Castillo elsewhere?" I sneered trying to show surprise and maybe a little anger.

He reached over and kissed me, "You are the only one. I'm trying to keep you safe." I passed the test.

I did not immediately respond. I had to remain "confused." It was not hard. Carlos Manoso is Enrique Delgado, and Jose Castillo is also Enrique Delgado as Rick's decoy and this government woman, former Ranger handler, does not know Ranger/Rick/Enrique is alive and believes Jose/Enrique is my husband. Gads, some crazy fiction writer is scripting my life right now.

"Stephanie, we tried to erase your existence to keep you safe. Having you marry Jose has taken you off the radar."

I let the erase your existence pass and zoomed right to having you marry. "I thought I was married to Enrique was my idea. Well, Aunt Madge, since I'm still confused let's further this by telling me why my arranged husband, whatever his name is, and I, the bartered bride, are here." I was prissy.

"Salem Albadar, Silvio Alberra, and Jules Armand."

"I'll meet yours and raise you Athos, Porthos, and Aramis. Who are your guys?" I already knew.

They are one person with various names and the one who killed Carlos Manoso."

I shuddered, "Why am I being told this?"

"We believe he's in this country."

"Why should I be concerned? He's already killed Carlos."

"Carlos Manoso's encounter with him years ago was part of a team: Manoso, Turner, Brock, and Santos."

"Lester? Lester Santos, Ranger's cousin?" I gasped. Perhaps I would win the best actress award.

"Yes."

"Are the others all safe?"

"One is missing, and one is confirmed dead."

"Please, not Lester," I implored knowing he was alive but had to remain ignorant for Aunt Madge.

"He's alive, and we'd like to keep him that way. But if captured, he will be drugged and forced to reveal you moved to New Mexico and a new life."

I did not know if Aunt Madge knew Rick, not Jose and I were actually in Colorado, not New Mexico. "But I say again, Carlos is dead, gone buried at Arlington. Why would Mr. 3-in-1 want me?"

"As far as we know, Salem knows nothing about you. On the other hand, maybe Manoso said something about you while drugged. Your showing up in Trenton at the same time he is stalking Lester might be tempting to Salem. He could claim you as a trophy for a job well done. We discourage our agents from developing a love life due to the dangers. Doing so puts our contractors at greater risk as well as endangers outsiders such as you. We want to capture or kill Salem. You and Santos are our bait."

Ah, there was confirmation of what Rick kept telling me. It was not just his belief having a love interest would endanger him, but also would have threatened me. Even years ago Ranger was protecting me. Nevertheless, here we are face to face with a past problem. I needed to stay in character, "So now I've put my husband's life in danger?" I said as I grabbed Jose's arm. I hoped my acting was believable.

Jose put his arm around me, "No, Enrique Delgado is not a high bounty to the world's trash. I'm more eyes, not weapons."

"So what am I doing here? Don't tell me I bait for Mr. 3-1." I was worried about the other Enrique Delgado, Rick. Surely, he would not stay in Colorado or New Mexico while I am in possible danger. He will follow me to New Jersey. Well hell! It's bad enough my mother screwed up my life while she was alive, now her death may mess with me again. Maybe Rick was right. I should have returned to Colorado and made up an excuse not to come to the funeral.

"If we didn't want him dead I'd send you back to New Mexico with Jose," Aunt Madge said. She was reading my mind, though not entirely. Once again, she got the wrong state.

"But there's still Lester," I said flatly. It has been a few years since I was bait or even a distraction for an FTA takedown. He risked his life repeatedly protecting me mostly from myself. It is my turn to protect him. "OK Aunt Madge, if I am the bait, am I a fly to skip across the water? Hopefully, I'm not a drowned worm."

Aunt Madge looked at me as if she had no idea what I meant. Apparently, she does not fish.

"How do I get him to take the lure?" I repeated.

"I'd prefer you hide behind a red cape."

"Like a bullfight? Great, let's hope this matador doesn't get gored."

**-0-**

I asked Jose if he would take me to Arlington to visit Ranger's grave. The last time I was here, I was numb. My very best friend and heart was dead. I could not comprehend Batman had died. Men in uniform, even more not in the military dress, but from their physique probably had been— all stood upright, stone-faced. Many men from all Rangeman offices were present, stoic but bleeding inside. Ranger's family was present. They were devastated though they all knew this day would likely come. Daddy and Valerie were with me. I do not remember how we got here. As Jose and I walked around Arlington arm in arm, I quietly asked, "Did you serve?"

"Marine, six years."

I was not surprised. Once a Marine, always a Marine. No matter how into character Jose would get as a New Mexico home-boy, the Marine control remained. Now he was portraying my husband yet right there on the top was the Marine: honor, courage, and commitment. I looked at all the graves, men and woman who put aside personal and material indulgences that were so common to our culture and rose above them to fight and perhaps give their lives for their beliefs. At least they had beliefs. Most of today's youth dwell where I did for years, Land of Denial, secular self-indulgence, and misinformation.

As we approached Ricardo Carlos Manoso's grave, Jose held back, "Go ahead, I will stay here," he said as he kissed the side of my head. He was playing the part of husband well.

I knelt down and brushed off the headstone. A man approached me, "Did you know him?"

What a curious question, I thought. Why didn't the man ask, "Is that a family member?" Could this be Salem? He fit the description Rick gave me; 5'9 or 10", medium complexion, dark wavy hair.

"He was my friend," I replied trying to ignore the rude question.

"How much of a friend?" There was another strange question. I caught the man's accent and tried to justify it as something a second language speaker might ask.

"Just a friend," I shrugged. "I thought he was gay since he didn't do relationships. (Forgive me, Rick.) I was involved with someone else, so Carlos remained my friend. I did not have many. He thought I was amusing."

"Are you amusing?"

"Back then I tended to have mishaps. I was not suited for my job. Everyone but Carlos laughed at me. He said I could do better and encouraged me. When he died, I left, left all the people that laughed and moved far away. I stopped by to say hello."

Jose was walking towards us. The strange man was watching Jose approach. "Is this your husband?" He noted the ring on my finger.

"Yes."

"Did he know this man?" The stranger said as he motioned toward Ranger's headstone. Perhaps he was noticing how much Jose looked like Ranger.

Every fiber in my body was on guard. I was sure this was the bastard that "killed" Ranger. Where were Aunt Madge and her crew? A sniper could finish this person off easily. "No, Carlos was long gone. My husband is from a different time and place. I had to start over elsewhere."

"Are people still laughing at you?" he asked.

"Now I lead a simple life, laugh at myself and don't care what others think. Maybe that is what Carlos was trying to teach me. Stand up, be me, quit listening to others, and try harder."

Jose held out his hand, "Y'all ready to leave, Hon?" The fake accent was thick and southern.

I stood up and turned to leave, "Good-by Carlos." I wept from the loss of Ranger & Rangeman, wept that I was possibly standing next to the man that caused Rick so much pain, and I wept because I couldn't shoot the bastard dead right here. Jose put his arm around me, and we walked away. I put my head on his shoulder, "Did you get pictures?"

"Yes, I emailed them to Rick."

"How in the world did that bastard know we'd be here?"

"Maybe he got lucky."

"I don't believe that, and neither do you. Where are Madge's exalted bodyguards?"

"They are on the far side of the cemetery at the wrong grave site."

"I think there's a rat in Madge's house."

Jose nodded in agreement, "Or a mole in her garden."


	5. Chapter 5 Old Friends

**Chapter 5 Old Friends**

Trenton, especially Chambersburg, had not changed, well actually it had. The demographics had changed, but the buildings and attitudes remained the same. Many of the younger Burgers had moved into other communities in Mercer County or out of the area entirely.

My mother died of viral pneumonia. It was a shock especially since she went quickly. Grandma Mazur had passed away a little over a year before. Her passing caused the Burg grapevine to vibrate for weeks after. Apparently, Grandma Mazur was not alone or asleep when she passed on, entertaining a gentleman also from the retirement home.

Valerie was no longer had a female role model with my mother's passing. She and my mother were close, but like my mother, she barely tolerated Grandma Mazur and her zestful living. Valerie's daughters were without a grandmother or great grandmother. Albert's mother had a severe stroke and was in a care facility in Hamilton.

Daddy seemed lost when I talked to him on the phone. He had relied on his wife to run the household for forty-five years. He did not know how to cook or where items were located in the house, short of his closet and dresser drawers. The washing machine and dryer were foreign as was the vacuum cleaner. I was attending the funeral in Trenton for my father. My relationship with my mother ended years before.

When Daddy opened the door to greet Enrique-Jose and me, he was confused. Then his eyes brightened, he remembered the deception. "Welcome Enrique, how are the goats?"

The pictures taken of me and my "husband" back in New Mexico for Daddy to show around Trenton were with a different man than Jose or Rick. Fortunately, my mother tore the pictures up before showing them around town. She was embarrassed to show the pictures of her daughter and her Mexican "boyfriend" on a goat ranch. There was no way she would acknowledge her daughter married "one of those people." This was Trenton's first view of Stephanie Plum's husband. "No more goats now sir, we've upgraded to bovines."

"Did you sell your previous place?"

"Yes sir, we needed more acreage."

"How much more?" Daddy asked. He did not ask where.

"Twenty-five thousand acres, sir."

Frank Plum broke into a big grin, "Sounds like a lot of work."

"It is sir, but your daughter is a big help. She can rope 'em, tag 'em, and brand 'em."

Daddy laughed out loud, "Rawhide."

I put my hands on my hips, "Not you too, Daddy?"

My sister had gotten older. She never entirely lost her pregnancy fat and was now nearly middle age with a middle age spread. Remaining slim married to Albert Kloughn would be hard. The man loved food more than I did.

"Are you going to move back?" Valerie asked. She was hinting she could use the help with Daddy. As far as I could tell, he was still capable of taking care of himself. Yes, he would have to learn to vacuum and use the washer and dryer. Burg widows were keeping him well supplied in casseroles. He was the new fish in the pond ask and he had a government pension.

"No, Enrique is not from here plus we have the ranch. Trenton isn't my home anymore."

"But you have family here," she whined. "Family is everything."

She sounded so much like my mother. I did not know whether to laugh or cry. Yes, I have a family, my sister Valerie who became a typical Burg mother, dominating her daughters, as my mother had done with us. I have cousins who were quick to spread rumors about me except for Eddie. He was a cousin-in-law, married to my cousin Shirley. He was my sole supporter at Trenton police.

Mary Lou, my best friend through school now had near-adolescent sons. Their sports occupied Mary Lou's life. If she wasn't running to soccer games, she was at baseball, Tae Kwan Do, band practice, music lessons, or Boy Scouts. The only time Mary Lou could find time to meet with me was for lunch. Jose came along but sat at a nearby table, "I'll let you two catch up." I knew he was there to protect me. I spotted a man and woman dressed in black not far away. Apparently, Tank was now hiring women at Rangeman.

"He reminds me of Ranger with a beard," Mary Lou smiled as she glanced at Jose.

"Yeah," I agreed. If Mar could see the two men side by side, she'd realize how close she was with her observation. "He's former military as well, Marine. I guess I favor the commando type."

"I don't know how you stand the beard."

"You'd be amazed how soft it is. Instead of shaving, Enrique has to wash, comb, trim, and oil the beard. Frankly, shaving takes less time."

Looking back over her shoulder she said, "Apparently he has the same hover quality Ranger had. You couldn't ditch him long enough to come to lunch?"

"Mar, Ranger never hovered. Enrique is here so I can have a drink or two with my friend and not worry about either of us driving."

"Oh, sorry. I hear you live on a ranch in Texas?"

Texas? Where did that come from? Initially, my mother believed we were in Mexico. Had she changed her story to reduce her embarrassment? Did the Burg gossip line get it wrong? Was my father muddying the waters? I was happy the Burg, like Aunt Madge, didn't know about Colorado.

I was going to go with the flow, "It's huge, Mar, it feels so strange to look out the window and know everything thing I see, well almost, belongs to us."

"Almost?"

"It takes more land than we own to run a cattle ranch. We have permits to graze the cattle for a few months each year on adjoining Forest Service and BLM land."

"Isn't isolated?"

"When Ranger and Joe died, I died inside. The Burg girl who had been go-go-go was gone. I find I don't need constant stimulation from noise, sugar or people trying to kill me. I'm not bowing to the demands of my mother or Joe. The quiet has allowed a new person in me to emerge. I'm always busy, maybe more busy than before. Each day is something new."

"Like?"

"The day the horse got into the house."

Mar snorted, "You have a horse? Of course, you do. You live in Texas."

"We have several horses actually." I sincerely hoped she didn't ask where in Texas.

"OK, I'm game. How did the horse get into the house?"

Wiping my lips with my napkin, I began, "Mar, I'm sure it isn't as chaotic as three sons, but at least the horse had manners, he rang the bell. Corky is friends with the dogs and watched them pull the bell chord to get in and decided he wanted in as well."

"Corky is the horse, right? You just let him in?"

"I was a little dumbstruck plus the dogs, Bob and Jacob, invited him in."

"Bob, wasn't that Joe's dog?"

I shrugged, "After Joe's death the Morellis didn't want him. If it weren't for Bob and his need to go outside regularly, I would have locked myself in my apartment far longer than I did. He lives with us now along with Jacob, a former show dog who is Bob's best friend. Bob and Jacob are therapy dogs. They visit shut-ins or work with children learning to read."

"You show dogs now?" Mary Lou almost gasped.

I chuckled, "No, no, Jacob belonged to my landlady in _Corrales_. I originally rented a _casita_ from her until I married Enrique." I had learned to roll the double R's to enhance the name _Corrales_.

"What is a _casita_?"

"Think guest quarters away from the main _hacienda._" I threw in _hacienda_ instead of house to further confuse Mar.

Mar shook her head, "Let me get this straight. The horse who got into the house thinks he's a dog?"

"Yes, thankfully we don't have doggie doors. I'd hate to have to get a horse out of one. Corky would surely try."

"Isn't he too big for a dog door?"

"He is now, but not when he was a colt, or so he believed. The young horse is like an overly curious child, getting into everything, escaping confinement, and harassing other animals. He regularly escapes his stall or paddock by opening the latch with his teeth. He tries to get into the hen house to play with the chickens. He is curious about everything which leads him into trouble. Like the time he got stuck in the mud by the stream. It took two strong men, a strong woman and me to get him out again."

"What do you do for fun?"

"Other than dig horses out of the mud, get up in the morning and see what the day brings. When bored, I go fishing or photograph wildlife or wildflowers. Have you ever seen acres of bluebonnet flowers? I should send you pictures." No, I dare not least she sees we are not on somewhat flat Texas prairie or in Mexico. "I fix windmills or haul hay on an ATV to the cattle. There is always something interesting to do. I've washed my brain of typical urban activities and went back to nature."

"I've never thought of Stephanie Plum as a Nature Girl. Remember how your mother wouldn't let you go to scout camp because she didn't want you smelling like a horse?"

I rolled back and laughed, "Mar, I crossed that line as a bounty hunter except it wasn't horse-smell on me. How many garbage bags and bins did I roll through? There are far worse smells than horses. I've had my hand up a cow's behind pulling out a stuck calf. Have you ever cleaned a chicken coop on a hot summer day? The ammonia smell is intense. Remember how my mother said Burg women don't sleep outside on the ground? When we had to move the cattle from one spot to another, there is no motel nearby. I've slept on the ground, in a tent and pooped out in the open. I've bathed in mountain streams, gone months without a manicure, and shop for boots with as much passion as I once did for FMPs." I knew Mar couldn't comprehend. It was a strange universe to her as it would have been for me when I lived in Trenton.

"Do you ever leave the ranch?"

I watched as the waiter refilled my wine glass and Mary Lou's. I was going to have to ignore the second glass if I wanted to keep my tongue controlled. I glanced at Jose assuring him I'd be OK. I knew there was always a threat to me here. "As I mentioned, the dogs and I are into pet therapy. The nearest size-able town is a two-hour drive away. The dogs and I visit a nursing home, library, and schools as part of the pet therapy program. When I grocery shop, I purchase a month or so at a time. I even get on an airplane and fly to other areas for vacation, just like other people here do. The ocean still calls to me. I was in Cabo San Lucas last year, the Yucatan the year before." I had my story to feed the Burg based on living in Mexico, not Texas. Mar didn't want to question my traveling.

"Did you ever learn how Ranger died?" she asked as she twirled the pasta on her fork. Mar had begun to put on weight. Running after three young boys kept her active, now as family chauffeur, she was spending time in a car seat instead.

"No. Ranger did work for various government agencies around the world. He always warned me it could happen, but I never believed it would happen to him."

"People say he was a drug lord."

I laughed a good belly laugh. "It was quite the opposite, Mar. Some of his work was with the DEA against drug cartels. He also did hostage rescue for civilians and military. If he was a drug lord would Generals, Admirals, and US Senators have attended his funeral in Arlington? His parents received a letter from the President expressing condolences for his death."

"Did you know what Ranger did before he died?"

"A little bit but I couldn't say a word. Mar, contrary to what Joe said, many men at Rangeman are highly decorated soldiers, not thugs. You know Trenton is not the only location for Rangeman. They have far larger operations in Boston, Miami, Atlanta, and Dallas. In fact, they have expanded the Trenton office to Newark and Philadelphia. Joe kept insinuating Ranger's cars were stolen. Ranger was the CEO of a size-able corporation. That's why he drove expensive cars." OK, I left out the part about Ranger saving the life of the local German car distributor and as a result, paid ridiculously low prices for his Mercedes and Porsches. Add to that the incredible amount of money he earned as a mercenary. I hoped Mary Lou would go back and correct the Burg gossip. Long ago I had learned Mar was as big a gossip as my mother.

"Mar, the Burg didn't trust Ranger because Joe Morelli was jealous and spread lies. Joe thought he was a big shot in Trenton and especially the Burg. Then Carlos Manoso came to town. As good looking as Joe was, Ranger not only had a better ass, everything else about him was better. Women in town began eyeing Ranger, including me. Joe was constantly trying to knock Ranger down. Joe thought he owned me."

"You did more than eye Ranger."

I sighed, "Yeah, I did. It was wrong no matter if it was once or twice. I tried to justify it as it happened in our "off times from Joe" but not the stolen kisses. Those occurred when we were in an "in time." It was wrong, but I was so confused. I couldn't be a wife and mother to a Morelli brood, but my mother kept throwing Joe in my face. She knocked me down all my life to where I felt I wasn't worth being happy. My job was to make her and my husband happy. I tried to love Joe, but we had a bad past. We were friends at most. Even then friends don't stand in the middle of the street yelling someone is a train wreck."

"If Ranger had died first, you would have married Joe?"

"In my mental state back then, yes. It wouldn't have been long before I was a worse alcoholic than my mother, drug addict, or I shot one of us."

"If Ranger was some big CEO why didn't you dump Joe for him?"

"I was brainwashed into believing my destiny was to be a Burg wife. My mother and the Burg tried to force me, a square peg, into the Burg's round-hole life. Ranger remained in Trenton only because of me. He planned to live in Miami, but developed an attachment to me. Maybe it was like adopting a feral kitten. If I had married Joe, Ranger would have left town. I did not want to lose his friendship, and Joe would have been jealous. Remembering Joe's childhood and his abusive father, I worried if the evil was lurking in Joe too. The shock of losing both Joe and Ranger was like dynamite, blasting me from the Burg. I needed to go elsewhere to heal and find myself."

"You didn't say good-bye," she huffed. "I thought we were friends."

"Mar, I wrote to you as soon as my mind began to settle again. I needed to run, hide, and rebuild. You did not hear my telephone messages reveling in my misery. I had to leave the harassing calls and my mother's continued chastisement and new marriage prospects. I assumed you would encourage me to stay as it was my home, but it never was a comfortable home."

It was time to ask her a question. "What was the gossip about Joe's death?" I had heard one version from Tank during one of his visits to the ranch. I wanted to listen to the Burg version.

Mary Lou bit into a piece of bread and chewed before answering. "The word was he was undercover in Chicago for the FBI. It was all people here could talk about caring more about the "news" than his safety. Before the government could pull him out, the Latin Kings here contacted their brothers in Chicago, and Joe's car was riddled with bullets then blown up."

Yeah, Tank said the same. Apparently, Joe was not in the car when it blew up but may have been shot before he escaped.

"It's ironic, isn't it," Mary Lou said. "He ragged you when your cars blew up, and that's how he went."

"I hope the gossipers didn't blame me because of my bad car karma."

Mary Lou looked up and hesitantly answered, "Your mother did one night at your father's lodge. Your father went ballistic yelling at her to stop blaming you for her fucked up life. He said she drove you away with her constant berating. You were better than any Burg woman."

I put my fork down in disbelief. My father stood up for me. "When was this," I asked Mary Lou.

"Right after he returned from visiting you in Texas."

I sensed something was different about Daddy when he came to New Mexico, not Texas. Now I know what. He was reexamining his hands-off approach to child rearing allowing his wife to raise his daughters. Our discussions together in New Mexico with Rick must have opened his eyes.

Mary Lou stopped and took a big gulp of her wine before she continued. "How did you and Enrique meet?"

It seems I was doing most of the talking while Mar ate. "I told Tank I had to leave Trenton but didn't know where I'd go. He found a job for me out west with a security company and drove Bob and me out. Jose was one of my trainers at the new job. He grew up around animals and wanted to get back to them."

"You went back to fugitive apprehension?" she gasped.

"No, no. Their rules about being fit and armed were the same as here. Enrique was my trainer for surveillance jobs."

"Do you two have children?"

I waved my fork around, "Mar, do you see them here?"

"I thought since you settled down and married, of course, you'd have children. I know you didn't want Morelli children, but I thought you might have changed your mind with Enrique."

I set my fork down, help up my hands, and began counting on my fingers, "Taking care of one husband, two dogs, twenty-four chickens, twelve horses, and several hundred cattle, why would I want a child? Plus we would have to homeschool the children or send them to boarding school."

"Why?"

"We are isolated. A school bus would have to travel 2 hours one way to take our children to school in town. The alternative would be a boarding school. It wouldn't be fair to a child."

"So did you ever learn to cook?"

How sad, Mar's horizons are still in being a good Burg woman; children and cooking. Next question will probably discuss the latest floor care product. "You assume I've become the domestic goddess my mother intended. Mar, you should know me better than that. Well, I have learned to cook a bit. The rule is whatever once catches in the stream they have to clean and cook. Enrique taught me to fish. As a result, I cook fish as well as my old standby toasted cheese sandwiches. I can read a cookbook and do simple meals." I left off we have a housekeeper. Sadly, I realized Mary Lou and I no longer had anything in common. "Did I mention we make pizza in an oven we build?"

"You built the oven? Why don't you have electricity on the ranch?"

"You remember how I liked to play in the mud? The four of us, the ranch supervisor and his wife, Enrique and I figured out how to make an outdoor _horno_, a dome oven made from firebrick and _adobe_ mud. We can cook pizza, bread, even a turkey."

"_Adobe_?"

"Throughout the world's arid region, bricks are made from sticky clay mud, straw, and sometimes manure. They bake until hard in the hot, dry sun."

"You made a barbeque from manure and mud?"

"No, it is not a barbeque. The oven looks like an igloo but cooks like Pino's pizza oven. We heat it with wood, brush aside the ash as they do at Pino's and then put in the food. My favorite is now the green chile pizza with jalapenos."

Mary Lou shuddered. Her mind and taste buds were still in the Burg. She had no concept of the life I was leading. If I had stayed in Trenton, I would have married and filled my days with PTA, soccer practice, making Ziti for Friday night dinner.

"Are you going to stop and see Connie?" she asked.

"Is she still with Vinnie?" I knew Vinnie was gone but was playing the part.

"Rangeman bought the bonds company. She is running it. The office is in the same location."

"Where's Vinnie?"

"He and Lucille moved to Tampa."

"What about Lula?"

"She's moved to Atlanta."

"What?" I acted surprised. Tank had mentioned Lula moving to Atlanta during one of his visits to the ranch.

"She and Tank couldn't get it together. She went to Atlanta, became a beautician, met one of the Atlanta Rangeman, and married."

"Lula is married? Anybody else I need to know about?"

"Bella is still terrorizing the Burg. She blames them for Joe's death."

Actually, Bella was probably right. "She must be two hundred years old now."

"She's ninety-seven years old. God does not want her, and neither does the Devil. Also, Joyce Barnhardt is gone."

"Gone, like moved or eternally gone?"

"The latter. One of Joyce's breast implants ruptured, and she was having it replaced. She died from post-surgery pneumonia."

I couldn't believe the old witch was still alive but Joyce the younger witch was gone.

"Also we've moved to Hamilton. Our house in Trenton was too small, and the neighborhood was going downhill. Lenny's plumbing business is doing well, so we have a bigger home and yard with real grass and a dog."

"Your life isn't crazy enough Mar?"

"She's a Doddle named Daisy Mae. We girls have to stick together in a house filled with testosterone. It won't be too long before Dom starts dating. Lenny has already told him he will castrate him if he knocks up any girl before marriage."

I winced, "That seems excessive."

"We don't need a Joe Morelli in the family."

I was surprised I do not react. My past life was far behind me now. "Is there more about Joe I do not know?" I asked calmly.

"Remember Becca Conti? She left after graduating from high school and disappeared. She had a baby thanks to Morelli and the senior prom. Yes, he and Terry were the Prom King and Queen, but he had a little action in the parking lot with Becca. She and her husband came back to Trenton to bury her father and her oldest boy, a high school senior, is a dead ringer for Joe Morelli. Nobody knew about the boy, especially the Morellis. Becca and her husband purposely stayed away so Angie wouldn't claim grandparents' rights. Then there was Margaret Romano. She had a girl about the time you left. She applied for Joe's life insurance, but Angie Morelli fought her. It came down to a DNA test. Margaret won.

I sat and listened without emotion. All that turmoil had flowed away a long time ago. It meant nothing to me, well, almost nothing. I knew Joe was not monogamous. I never actually caught him il flagrante delicto. But then, I was diddling with Ranger. "What about Terry?"

"She's still in the family business. She's not married claiming Joe was her one true love."

-0-

Funerals continued to be the main Burg social activity. The old Burgers wanted something new to gossip about since my grandmother's passing. The younger Burgers heard stories about the Bombshell Bounty Hunter and came to stare at the wayward daughter and her **foreign** husband.

I have changed a bit over these few years. I am slimmer but more muscular. My face is tanned a bit, though I do wear sunscreen daily. My hair is as long and curly as ever, exactly the way Rick prefers it. The color has gold streaks from the sun and a few silver threads reminding me time marches on.

I dressed appropriate or else my mother would have haunted me from her grave. My dress is from a designer store in San Francisco, the shoes cost more than most of my Trenton cars. Several women looked at my feet to see if I was wearing cowboy boots. I am sure the Burgers are wondering how a goat farmer could afford such an outfit. Jose was in a custom-made summer weight suit. In Burg's eyes, we probably looked more like Mr. and Mrs. Drug Cartel.

My nieces were there with their preteen stage with rolling eyes and huffing disapproval. Both were antsy, Valerie was not coping with their whisperings. Daddy went to his granddaughters, held each ones' hand, and whispered something in Mary Alice's ear. She immediately came over to me and held my hand. Surprise, surprise, grandpa may be taking a positive role in the girls' lives.

After the funeral, many people stopped by my parent's house. Most came with confused looks on their faces. They could see how much Enrique looked like Ranger.

Lester stood and stared. "If I didn't know better I'd say you are my cousin Carlos."

Jose was prepared. "That's what Stephanie said from day one," he said with a slight Texan accent often heard in New Mexico. "My family is originally from Mexico and Spain, not Cuba."

"Did you serve?"

Here Jose could be himself, "Yes sir, six years Marines, oorah!" He then rolled up his shirtsleeve to show his Marine tattoo.

That broke Lester's stare. Jose passed the test, this was not his cousin. From then on the Rangemen and Burg residents in attendance knew this wasn't Carlos Manoso reincarnate. This was the Marine that married the Bombshell Bounty Hunter.

Lula came with her husband. She had lost weight and tamed her hair. Her dress was formfitting showing there was still a very curvy woman underneath her barely-modest dress. Gone were the fat rolls. She was not skinny, just a BBBW, big beautiful black woman.

"Look at you, White Girl all trim and muscled. You look like you can finally kick ass."

"Lula, I could say the same about you. You look…..fantastic!"

"So you are going to introduce me to your husband? "

I introduced Enrique/Jose. She presented her husband, Lincoln. I noticed he resembled Tank and she noted Enrique resembled Ranger, "We both stayed within the same molds," she said in a low voice.

"I'm sorry you and Tank didn't work out."

"After the disaster and you left, I had to leave too. Tank said he would never marry and was now too busy running Rangeman. He helped me get training in Atlanta and asked Rangeman down there to keep an eye on me. I kept my eye on one Rangeman in particular."

"So you are now into fashion."

"White girl, I've always been into fashion. Now I am Miss Lula and have two unisex salons. My best clients are the Rangemen in Atlanta. They are every bit as lovely as the ones up here, but I got me the best of all."

I glanced over at Lincoln. The look in his eyes said he adored Lula. "Yes, Lula, you hit gold."

"So, Mrs. Delgado, tell me about the ranch."

"It's huge and has a lot of smelly animals. The nearest neighbor is ten miles away. The nearest town of size is two hours away."

"That _don't_ sound like much fun. Judging from your trim figure and muscles, you aren't anywhere near a bakery or pizza restaurant."

"We make our pizza. Enrique has the anti-sweet tooth like Ranger. I save my indulgences for when I get to town every month or so."

"You only go to town once a month? White girl, you must be living on an alien planet. What about woman maintenance?"

"I wear jeans and boots. You see my nails are short because of mucking out horse stalls. Enrique cuts my hair when necessary, but the longer it is, the less it frizzes. Also living in a dry climate helps."

"I was referring to other maintenance."

I winked, "Some men still like a little bush. I keep my hedge clippers handy."

The Trenton Rangemen invited Enrique and me to Haywood. I was looking forward to seeing the Command Center again, but Enrique and were not employees. We were guests and shown to a reception room on the first floor. Tank knew Jose was portraying my husband Enrique and greeted me like the returning prodigal child. I had seen Tank just months earlier when he and Ranger/Rick went hunting together, but I acted as if it had been years. Most of the rest of the Rangemen were there.

My dear friend Cal picked me up and spun me around remarking at my new muscular body. "Bomber, you are fit and trim. Why did you balk at our exercises routines before?"

I noticed Cal hand a wedding ring. The tattoo on his forehead had not scared off a companion. I never really knew if Cal was gay or straight. "She has a few tats of her own, just not on her face," he said as he blushed.

Hal crushed me. I noted he, too was wearing a wedding ring. "Is that a ring on your hand?"

"Yeah," he smiled, two years now. We just found out I'm going to be a Daddy."

"She's a lucky woman Hal."

"No Bomber, I'm the lucky one. Life was so lonely around here without you. We all loved you. We had to find beauty in our lives. You were a hard act to follow, but I found my love."

"_Mi Hermana! Mi Corazon!"_ I heard behind me and knew it was Hector. How I missed "my brother." I have suspected he has been following me by hacking into Butler Security and heaven knows what else. I missed him!

"_Mi Hermano!_" I gave him a long hug and kiss. Then I noticed his teardrop tattoos were gone. I touched the scars, "They are gone."

"Angelita, I have healed. You taught me to not be so mad at the world."

"You are speaking English Hector!"

He answered in a New York accent, "It was time to quit hiding behind the Spanish. I was born and raised in Queens."

Finally, Bobby showed up. He too knew about Ranger/Rick. He had closely followed Ranger's progression at the VA hospital, coming out with Tank to see the resurrected Enrique. After being introduced to Enrique Bobby asked, "So, any little Bombers around?" He knew the answer.

Enrique-Jose took it in stride. "No, no. The sight of children sends her into a panic attack. Plus, we are a bit too isolated for educating children. We would have to home school them."

"Have there been any exploding cars?" Bobby asked.

I glowered, but before I could answer Jose beat me to it. "She has fallen off a horse or two, but none have exploded."

"Is Ella here?" I asked. I already knew she and Luis had retired after Ranger was gone. I had to continue to act in front of the others.

"No," Tank said. "She and Luis live in Florida."

"Like Vinnie and Lucille?"

Tank stopped for a moment then started to laugh, "I assume they are far apart from one another."

Lester had returned to Rangeman before us. I wanted to talk to him further. Of all the Rangemen, I was the closest to him after Ranger. I saw the hurt in his eyes when he entered my father's house thinking Jose was Ranger. "Lester, I did not plan to marry a Ranger replacement. Working here I learned to accept every one of any color, unlike my very biased mother. Enrique may look like him, but he is completely different. There was only one Carlos Manoso and we all still deeply mourn his passing."

Lester threw his arms around me and wept at my neck, "I still miss him."

"Me too Lester, but we have to move on. Enrique and I and hopefully someday you'll find someone."

Lester pulled back and wiped his eyes, "Actually I am getting married. I am not doing government missions since Ranger died. I always thought you and I would get together. I figured my cousin would throw you back to Morelli one-too-many times and you'd give up on him and I would have my chance. I almost followed you, but Tank said you needed time to heal and be away from everything Rangeman. Bomber you were in the hearts of all the men here. Everyone loved you and suffered when you moved away."

Mentally I thanked Tank for moving me to Albuquerque but also for deflecting Lester. "I can't wait to meet your woman, what's her name?"

"Sandra."

"Sandra Santos?"

"The name has a nice ring to it."

"Yes, Les it does. I wish you two the best."

"How about we meet for dinner while you are here? I want you to meet her." He was suddenly unusually enthusiastic. Yep, he was a man in love.

"Of course I want to meet her. She must be very special to have tamed you." We arranged to meet for dinner later that night.

How I missed my Merry Men. They were my guardian angels when I needed them. They were my friends with whom I could laugh or cry freely. Not just me, but these big men often cried on my shoulder as they tried to rebuild from military service nightmares. I hope I helped them as they helped me. I hated to leave them, but if I had not, I would not have found Ranger. It pained me not to tell them Ranger was still alive. When Tank comes to visit we discuss this, but he assures me it is best they do not know. Lester took Ranger's death the hardest. Bobby arranged for psychological counseling for Les. In the end, the loss was what turned Lester around, made him realize he could not continue to be the playboy. His finding the love of his life was excellent news.

-0-

Enrique and I arrived at the restaurant just before 6:45 pm. We assumed Lester and Sandra would join us shortly. We waited in the bar, but by 7:20 Les and Sandra had not shown. The hostess told us, "Mr. Santos canceled his reservation before 5 p.m."

Jose pulled out his phone and called Rangeman.

Tank had the man on the monitor track Lester's shoe GPS. "His shoe tracker says he's at the airport."

"Where the hell are Aunt Madge's men? They were suppose to cover Lester?"

"Unknown, they aren't answering their phones," the man on the monitor answered.

Jose could hear the conversation over the phone, "Do you want us to go get him?" Jose asked.

"No! I am sending a team immediately. Get to your car and get back here ASAP. I'll notify your backup in the parking lot. Heaven knows where Aunt Madge's men are again."

Enrique and I saw the Rangeman vehicle so hurried to our rental car and got in. Immediately we were incapacitated by a noxious odor. Enrique slumped over the steering wheel unresponsive. I hovered between conscious and unconscious. The car door open, and a big wind blew into the car causing me to shiver. A thunderstorm nearby apparently had cooled the air, and the down flow was washing through this part of Trenton. Then everything faded to black.

"Tank we have movement on the trackers," the man on the monitors said. "Stephanie's shoe tracker is also heading to the airport, but her purse is heading north on I-295."

"Have you contacted our back-up team in the parking lot?"

"No sir, they aren't responding."

"Double fuck," Tank cursed. "Send patrol three to check on them. Tell patrol four to get to the Trenton airport, NOW! Redirect Patrol one to follow the northbound tracker. Screw the government agents. If they end up in Manasquan, let them rot there."


	6. Chapter 6 Kidnapped

**Chapter 6 Kidnapped**

Steph POV

I heard sounds and voices, but I could not move. The voices spoke a foreign language I did not understand. All the while, the strange whooshing sound surrounded me. The cold settled deep in my body.

I woke again. This time I could open my eyes barely a slit. The whooshing sound was gone as was the cold. Now I was hot. I was inside a white chrysalis like a caterpillar going through the pupation waiting for release. Perhaps this time my butterfly wings would carry me back to Rick.

The chrysalis opened, and a man, middle age, medium complexion stood next to me and smiled, "Good you are awake."

He looked familiar, but I could not place him.

Drawing back the white chrysalis, he put a glass with milky liquid and straw to my lips, "One small sip, if you are able. One sip."

I tried to make my mouth work, but could not. Had I forgotten how to sip?

He lowered the straw and then placing his thumb over the end, caught enough liquid and put it just inside my lower lip. "Until you can properly swallow, this is all I can give you."

Nothing worked. My half-opened eyes must have shown the panic because the man put his hand out, "Relax, you will start feeling again soon. You will be walking in a few days. Sleep as much as possible now." He used his fingers to close my eyes.

When I woke again, I could open and close my eyes on command, but it hurt. This was the mother-of-all hangovers. Too bad I can't remember the party. Over the next few days, I started moving my hands, arms, and legs, but like with my eyelids, each movement was like a thousand daggers piercing me. The man came several times a day to tend to my needs. "I will remove your bladder catheter when you regain sensations. I will have to help you to the toilet initially."

When I regain sensations? I have pain all through my body. Wait, what did he say about the toilet? No way was I not going to let a stranger take me to the bathroom. He noticed the horror again in my eyes. What type of nightmare was I caught in?

"Your modesty is not necessary. I have bathed and changed you. You are a woman, just like half the world's population. The only thing that truly makes us unique from one another is our brain."

…and our soul I thought, but I couldn't speak. In time, I condescended to his helping me tend my bodily functions. He was just a few inches taller than me. Maybe not as strong as Hector, but he could fully support me in my journey. I was naked and mortified that he had already been touching my private areas.

"When you are able to move around on your own, you bathe here. It is a washstand with two pitchers of water. One is for soap washing, the other for rinsing. "We don't have a shower or bathtub. Potable water is precious here."

How was I going to wash my hair? I reached up and felt the tangled mess atop my head.

He watched me and said, "You soap up after you've washed your body and then pour whatever rinse water is left through your hair."

It was worse than camping! No actually camping was worse. You are in a tent and peed out in the open. Here there was a flush toilet. There is a flush toilet! I glanced back at it.

"The toilet is my concession to modernity. It uses seawater to flush. Do not try to drink or bathe in it. Outhouses are not a good idea with all the snakes about."

Snakes? I wondered if snakes could get into the toilet. I looked around the room. It was hardly a room. It reminded me of the sleeping alcove in the Rangeman studio apartments, but this was not an apartment. My closet back home was more extensive and more private. There were walls though they appeared flimsy. A drape hung around my bed. Was this mosquito netting? Where was I?

"Yes, it is a house, 2 stories not including the lower level. The tall ceiling conducts the heat upward through a central plenum. We only have solar-powered electricity, and I have other uses for that. I live simply."

I was still stuck on plenum. What was that? I looked around for lights but only saw a lantern. I wondered what used the electricity.

The man went to several hooks on the wall and took down a wrap dress. "It is a sarong. Tight fitting clothes are very uncomfortable in this heat and humidity. If you are cooperative, I will get you other clothing. This will do for now."

He turned and began walking out. "I'll be back when you are more stable walking."

I was praying I was in an awful dream, but the painful tingling in my body told me it was no dream but a living nightmare. Was I poisoned like Ranger? Where am I? How long have I been asleep? Glancing at my legs, I noted I was not a hairy arachnid from not shaving for months.

"Why am I here?" I whispered.

"Ah yes, that is the main question. You are here because you told me people found you amusing."

I stared at him. "You are the man from Arlington. You were at Carlos' gravesite."

"Yes. I enjoyed meeting Carlos Manoso's woman."

"Did you know him?"

"Yes. I killed him."

I was stunned and just stared. This was Salem Albadar. I could not reveal Ranger survived and was now living under an assumed name. "You killed him?" I tried to scream, but my body responded to my anger with pain from head to toe. I yelped. Once I could speak again, I asked with more reserve than I felt, "How? Did you shoot him, blow him up?"

Salem only smiled, "Careful my dear. Your body is returning to life. You must let it awaken naturally." He walked towards me, "You said you were only friends. Why do you care how he died?"

"He was my friend, my only true friend. He believed in me when nobody else did. Carlos was good at everything. I can't imagine how you got to him." The more emotional I got, the more I hurt. What did this man want from me? Did I really want to know? "You might as well kill me too because I will not amuse you." I wished I could breathe deeper and scream at him.

He laughed, "I like your spirit. You'll be good to have around."

"How do you know I won't kill you in your sleep?"

"Anything happens to me, you die. There is no escape for you, dear Stephanie Plum Delgado. I gave you a similar drug to what I gave Manoso. See the injection site," he said pointing to a spot on my lower arm. "It gets puffy like that for a while. I also have a blocker that holds off the effect of the drug for 72 hours. If you leave or you kill or injure me, you will die the same way he did, a slow agonizing death through dehydration."

"Hhhhow," I stuttered. I pretty much knew Ranger had described the hell trapped inside his body.

"Oh, that's the beauty…..you go into a paralyzed state, much like from what you are returning. Everything shuts down but the basics; you breathe, your heart beats, your organs and mind work, but not your voluntary muscles. You cannot open your eyes, but you can hear, but even that fades with time. Day after day, you exist in a chemical box relying on someone to feed you, tend your body. Until one day, they get tired and walk away. Then you die from starvation though dehydration occurs faster."

"Is that what happened to Carlos? You just walked away."

"Yes, I had worked elsewhere and had to leave. I learned a lot in the months he was under my care. I hated to leave. The staff had no interest in caring for him and left. Pity, he might have lasted years with proper care. He was in remarkable condition, at least initially."

"Did you keep him awake like me?"

"No, I hadn't developed the blocker."

"So I'm stuck here with you?"

"You are here until I tire of you. Just in case you decide on suicide, I have three other guests. You know one, Lester Santos. He, Turner Stevens and a lovely woman I believe is Mr. Santos' fiancée are asleep downstairs. If you kill me, not only do you die, but they do as well."

"I don't believe you." Actually, I did, but I had play dumb.

"When you regain your ability to walk, we'll visit them. In the meantime, you must be hungry. Your body's borborygmic noise indicates you are ready to begin solid food again."

Yes, I could feel my gut rumblings. Salem returned to my room with a bowl and spoon. I suspected ice cream was not on the menu. The spoonful of mush tasted like wallpaper paste. I expressed my disgust.

"I'm not exactly sure what you can eat. I am trying cassava. It must be carefully prepared. If eaten unpeeled it will kill you. The peel contains cyanide."

I wanted to laugh. The man poisoned me and was now feeding me something that if improperly prepared would murder me. The absurdity was hilarious.

He stood and took the bowl away. "There, just a bit to start. You might be allergic to this."

I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

Eventually, I was able to walk around, though painfully. I remembered Rick grimacing in his early recovery. Salem held my hand as we went down wooden stairs, through double doors to what appeared to be a morgue. Three makeshift beds had bodies on them. Mosquito netting surrounded each bed. The bodies were naked. Tubes ran from their noses, another ran from between their legs.

I stopped and stared, "Are they dead?"

"No, these are my guests just as you are. They are sleeping. Let me introduce you."

I was led to the first table where a man, age maybe in his 30's, white with blond hair covering his body. He reminded me of a golden teddy bear.

"This is Turner Stevens. He served under Manoso."

"How long has he been here?"

"Six months, he's lost weight, muscle mass. I should have cleaned him up for you, haircut and shave. I'm sure he's unhappy you see him in this state."

Angela said Turner had been missing five months. That means I have been asleep only a few days or weeks. Salem/Silvio had been in the US before for Turner. He came and went undetected. Were Aunt Madge's employees that incompetent? Obviously, I am here now.

"Can he hear me?"

"I doubt it."

I reached out and touched him not knowing if he could feel my hand. I forgot to ask Rick long he had a sense of touch. Then again, he had no way of recording time.

The second "body" caused me to gasp, "Lester?"

"Yes, your late husband's associate." My captor did not know Lester was also Carlos Manoso's cousin. I will say nothing as it might hasten Lester's death. "But I just saw him a few days ago." I really had no idea how long it had been, but I played ignorant not wanting Salem to realize I knew more than was letting on.

"Yes, he and his woman arrived here with you."

I wondered if Lester could hear me. Rick said he still could for some time in the beginning. I looked over and saw a woman. "Is this Sandra?" She had dark blonde hair, not unlike Lester's. She was trim and not busty.

"Yes, his fiancée. Both will enter their long sleep, there's no blocker for them."

"What about my husband, Enrique?"

The man shrugged.

"What does that shrug mean? Oh no, did you do something to him? Did you kill him?"

"By now, yes," he said dismissively. "He should be nearly to Africa bound and gagged inside the car locked in a cargo container. He would have succumbed to dehydration a day or two after sailing."

"Nooooo!" I rushed forward. I was going to strangle the bastard! My chest constricted, I gasped for air.

"Careful my dear, you are not well. Severe emotions or prolonged exercise will stop your heart. You are awake, but your body is trying to shut down like your friends here. As long as you are a good girl, these three will live."

Jose was the kindest man I had ever met. He was one of my mentor's in Albuquerque, always treating me like an equal. I was the first to notice how much he resembled Rick even before I discovered Ranger at the VA hospital. How often had Jose slipped into the role of my husband when Mr. and Mrs. Delgado needed to be Grand Junction or Denver? My stomach began to heave. I found the nearby waste pail.

"Another little drug side effect," he smiled. "If you get too emotional, nausea sets in."

I believed nausea had little to do with the drugs. I looked around, "Is this is your laboratory, Dr. Frankenstein?"

"Oh no, this is just the lounge, where my guests rest. I'll show you my workroom."

He led me through a door into a laboratory. One side had open shelves with books and documents. Locked cabinets occupied the rest of the wall. Laboratory equipment was on the opposite side. I walked around cataloging the rest. It was equal to a college chemistry laboratory with a few extras.

"Remind you of chemistry class?"

I shook my head no. "I was a business major. Science was never my thing. In high school biology, I cried through the earthworm dissection." I was lying. I loved the sciences and certainly did not cry through any dissection.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum, why are you bothering studying all that?" my mother droned in my head. "You need to pay more attention to creating a perfect house for your husband and family." Nausea returned. My mother had invaded my brain. "What's the hum?" I asked as a distraction.

"It is a centrifuge."

I shrugged as if I did not know what it was, but I knew. There must be some electricity to run a centrifuge.

"Come, I'll show you the rest of the house."

"Oh, boy, I can't wait to see what other macabre items you live with. You've got three zombies in the basement and me a walking zombie."

He laughed, "Do you eat brains?"

I stopped and started to gag.

The house tour was brief as the house was small. There was one bedroom. My sleeping area was a niche in the hall. The dining area was small. He explained I was his only guest. The so-called kitchen consisted of a water tank, a one burner propane-fueled burner, and storage cabinets. "Water is limited. Cooking is done with wood or propane. We eat simply because preparation is difficult." I did not think about sanitation or food poisoning. Did it matter?

There were verandas, one facing east, the other west. There was a small workout area. "You will exercise regularly. Otherwise, I will discontinue the blockers, and you will become like the others."

I have never been a fan of planned exercise. Now I had even more reason to hate it. If I do not exercise, the four of us will die.

"We are on an island without a fresh water supply other than the rain or what we can desalinate. There are no extravagant amenities, no swimming pool. I explained bathing. Electricity is minimal. A city girl like you will have a hard time adjusting. You will be confined to the house for your own safety."

His knowledge of me was outdated. I haven't been a city girl for years. Where did he get his information? Did he read about me in the newspaper or did he tape the Burg grapevine of gossip and misinformation? I had long left being a city girl. The ranch was isolated. I had learned not to rely on television and movies for entertainment.

"The island is home to saltwater crocodiles and several cobra species. The crocodiles pretty much stay to the other side of the island, but the snakes are widespread. If you need to get outside and walk around, do so in my presence. I carry a rifle for protection from the predators. When indoors keep your eyes open for possible snakes. Sometimes they get inside."

He had me at crocodiles. The cobras further enhanced my fear. Any type of snake scared me to death but especially snakes that could actually cause death. How ironic, the man who has cursed me to death will also be my savior from the cobras.

"There is the library for your entertainment. Otherwise, I expect you to keep the house clean including sweeping the walls twice a day to eliminate spiders and to watch for ants. Many different insects want into our food stores. All food must be stored in tightly sealed containers."

Spiders? I flashed back to my encounter with a mentally unstable man who was into military war games and was a threat to a mother and child. His name was forgotten. To warn me off the case, he put several extra-large spiders in my car, scaring the crap out of me. I had grown more tolerant of the 8-legged arachnids, but they still were not my favorite. Judging from the cobras and crocs, the spiders were probably deadly too.

"Are we the only ones on the island?"

"No, I have guards who patrol the island. They live in a separate facility."

"They are to keep me on the island?"

"If you leave, you and your friends die. They are here to keep others away."

"I'd think the crocodiles and cobras would do that."


	7. Chapter 7 Screw up

**Chapter 7 Screw up**

Jose Castillo, aka Enrique Delgado, woke up to find Bobby Brown sitting beside him. Jose's body throbbed from head to toe, plus he was dizzy and nauseous. "Just breathe evenly," Bobby said. "You've been drugged, but it's wearing off. You'll be fine in a day or two."

Jose willed his mind to spin back. He and Stephanie were going to dine with Lester and Sandra, but when they got to the restaurant, Lester and Sandra were no-shows. They waited and then what?

"Stephanie," he whispered.

Bobby shook his head, "She missing."

"Backup?"

"Drugged like you. We found a canister under the car that allowed the gas to seep in undetected. The men are recovering."

"Lester and Sandra?"

"They are missing as well."

"Madge's team?"

"They were never in the game. The idiots missed Lester leaving Rangeman, were late to Sandra's, and never showed at the restaurant."

Jose thought a minute, "The hostess said Les canceled before 5."

"No, he didn't leave Rangeman until 17:30. He had already changed and was on his way to pick up Sandra. Somebody else made the call."

"Where and what got us?" Jose asked as he winced in pain.

"It was inside your car. We found residue throughout the car and on you. When we got to you, Stephanie was gone. It greatly resembles what was given Rick years ago, but more basic."

"How long have I been out?" Jose asked. He did not know if he had been out nine months like Ranger.

"You've been out almost five days. The restaurant surveillance shows a white van pulled up, two men dragged her out and took her away. A tow truck came immediately and hauled your car away with you inside. The whole operation took less than ten minutes."

"How close behind was Rangeman?"

Bobby shook his head, "Traffic tie up three blocks away. Each responding car sent their second from the car in on foot, but we were too late."

"Set up?"

"Yeah, we think the traffic congestion was planned."

"Who found me?"

"Steph's purse with another GPS tracker had slid under the seat out of sight. We traced you to the Newark docks and a cargo vessel. You were destined for Lagos in Africa. You would have died of the heat and dehydration within a few days."

"What about Lester's tracker?"

"Sandra along with Les and Steph were in a private jet. We were too late to stop the aircraft. The flight plan was for Miami so we called ahead to have authorities waiting for aircraft. However, once airborne the pilot filed a flight change indicating they were going to Cancun. While approaching Cancun the pilot reported a fuel shortage and landed in Cozumel instead. After refueling, he continued west into Mexico."

"Was it Salem?"

"We assume so."

"Steph suspects a traitor within Madge's organization."

"Hector is running background checks on everyone including Madge."

"It smells," Jose said.

"No, it reeks," Bobby responded. "Rick's last mission was almost as stinky."

"Fuck them," Jose said quietly. "Rick is going to kill all of us," Jose murmured before he went back to sleep.

Bobby nodded his head in agreement as he left Jose's bedroom.

**-0-**

The conference room in the ugly government building in Maryland was sparse. A worn conference table and eight chairs and no pictures on the wall. An outline of one remained on the paint. Was it removed because it was ugly, offensive, or was it wired for eavesdropping? Hector looked around the rest of the room looking for listening devices. He wondered how he could discretely drop onto the floor and check all the chairs and table.

Aunt Madge was fuming, "People, what the hell happened? We failed to get Salem at Arlington and now have lost four more. Seriously?"

Nobody spoke.

The woman in charge continued, "Do we have any indication where Salem and the others are headed?"

Those dressed in suits gave excuses and generally answered they had no clue where the kidnapped people went. One man in a rumpled brown suit had the nerve to speak, "We don't know if it was Salem's work. We don't have eyewitnesses."

The Latino man with two scars under his eye, dressed in a black polo shirt, black jacket and trousers spoke, "He was in the Arlington cemetery talking with Mrs. Delgado."

The brown suit man shot back, "So you say. We don't have pictures."

"Jose took the pictures. They were sent to you several days ago."

A man in a blue suit replied, "How were we to know the pictures were Salem?"

Hector was calm on the outside but boiling internally. "Did you see the comparison photos? They are Mossad and Interpol's pictures and confirmed by MI6."

Madge looked at her agents and then back to Hector, "Continue."

"Salem's flight plan was for Miami, but he amended it once in the air for Cancun. We lost him in Mexico."

A man in the blue suit spoke, "We looked at all flights and found nothing for Salem Albadar leaving Trenton, Newark or Philadelphia."

Hector acted as if he did not hear the man, "He might have gone south into Central and South America."

"Not only are you not sure he was on the flight out of Trenton, but you also don't know where the aircraft went. Sounds like conjecture," grunted one man in a grey suit.

Aunt Madge cut in, turning to the Latino Rangeman, "Explain."

Hector looked at Tank who nodded to continue, "He left Trenton using the name Samuel L. Bardora. He quickly refueled in Cozumel, but we lost his trail."

The blue suit man quickly butted in, "You said the flight was going to Cancun. What was it doing in Cozumel? Can't you keep your cities straight?"

Hector's single look was deadly. The man in the blue suit looked uncomfortable. Hector spoke quietly, "The aircraft declared a fuel emergency stating it could not make it to Cancun. It is common ploy drug runners use to keep from being apprehended on the ground." After a long pause to stare at the government man waiting for a challenge, Hector continued, "We assume Salem moved on with yet another name and aircraft registration number. The records are confused, tail numbers are slightly different. We doubt he has returned to Columbia. His FARC associates no longer have power or position. Maybe he went elsewhere in Central and South America."

"I don't understand," Aunt Madge said.

Hector continued. "Samuel L. Bardora is an anagram of Salem Albadar with an added U. He entered Canada as Jules Armand, an alias he has used for a decade. He then entered the US, probably in North Dakota. The border is not well guarded. I will add here, he used the same general entry point two months ago, and like this time, you failed to alert anyone."

"Bull shit," said the man in the rumpled brown suit. "There's no way your private company collected all that information."

"Canadian records, sir. Homeland and State Departments knew and reported they contacted you." Hector spoke with as little emotion as he could. There was no way this government office knew all the information sources Rangeman and Butler had at their fingertips. Plus Hector had his own programs Rangeman kept quiet.

"Back to what I was saying about the abductions, less fifteen minutes after Mrs. Delgado was abducted, a plane owned by Samuel L. Bardora left Trenton, refueled in Mexico. From there we lost him."

It was a lie. Rangeman had followed Samuel L. Bardora from Mexico to Hawaii then to Manila, Philippines.

"So a complete stranger enters the US, crosses the country. Then another man with a name similar to Salem's, this Balboa flies to Mexico, and you believe he is our guy? That's all you have?" sneered the rumpled brown suit man.

"His name is Albadar, not Balboa. Do you have trouble spelling?" Hector sneered. "Is that why you could not be at the right grave site in Arlington?"

Tank gently touched Hector who was trying to bait Mr. Brown suit.

Do you have something to say, Mr. Sherman?" Aunt Madge asked.

Tank took a drink of water before beginning. He had plenty to say. "Let me recap, uninterrupted," Tank stated looking at the men in the rumpled brown suit and blue suit. "Jules Armand is a known alias of Salem. Carlos Manoso found the name three years before his death. Manoso also figured out Salem used anagrams. It is how he found him initially in Columbia."

Tank's eyes squinted slightly, intensifying his glare towards Madge. "You failed to tell us Salem was in the country though you had been notified. When confronted you admitted Salem might be in Washington, after Stephanie and Enrique were already here. You assured us you would protect her and capture Salem when she went to Arlington to visit Carlos Manoso's grave. However, your agents got lost and were at the wrong grave, or so you say. There is only one Ricardo Carlos Manoso buried in Arlington. Did you send the same incompetent team to Trenton?"

Madge did not tolerate such accusations and was about to respond when Tank continued. "Your agents missed Lester leaving Rangeman. They found his car at Sandra's and assumed they used her car to go to the restaurant. They never looked in the garage for Ms. Silas' car. It was visible. So where did your team go? They probably went out for beers to celebrate another fuck-up. With your less than stellar information sharing, going to specific locations, hell, even reading your emails, we had to take more precautions. We put trackers in Stephanie's purse. The purse was in the car under the front seat. It led us to a poisoned and unconscious Enrique Delgado in a Newark cargo container bound and gagged. The container ship was sailing for Africa. We started searching for possible ways Salem could escape with his cargo and found the private flight from Trenton. You really wouldn't expect he would rent an aircraft under his own name, do you?"

"Was Jose alive?" Madge asked. This was the first she heard about Jose. What else was she missing?

"He was meant to die of heat and thirst inside the cargo container. He is alive, and we _hope _eventually will recover to tell us more. The chemical is similar to what killed Carlos Manoso." Tank did not want Madge calling Jose to Washington to "debrief" him. He wanted her to think he was still unconscious.

"But you still don't know the other three were on that plane with Mr. Barbados," shot back the rumpled brown suit.

"Bardora, Samuel L. Bardora," Hector sneered. "You really do have a problem getting names straight, don't you? Is that some secret agent ploy? Perhaps you are losing your hearing."

Tank did not mention the shoe trackers, which confirmed she, Lester, and probably Sandra, were on the aircraft that left Trenton. Nor did he divulge their final destination.

Madge showed anger but not at Tank. Her team did not protect Stephanie and Jose at Arlington. The Trenton kidnapping was another error-packed fiasco. Madge went ballistic with both incidents and immediately fired several agents. Now she was listening to her agents arguing with the men from Rangeman who are more up on the situation than her own band of incompetents. Madge was fuming but indicated Tank should continue.

"The van Stephanie was placed in was found along with another at the train depot outside of Princeton. The vans' rental contracts were with Allen A. Darbas, another anagram, slightly misspelled."

"How did that other guy get to Newark?" asked the blue suit agent.

"His car was towed with him still inside. The tow truck had been reported stolen earlier that day," Hector answered.

"You still have no proof Salem or the others were on the aircraft. In fact with the vans not at the airport, the three kidnapped individuals could have been moved yet again and still in New Jersey or, hell, taken aboard Amtrak and in New York City," said the agent in the grey suit.

Tank looked at the three government men, brown suit, blue suit and grey suit. One is an idiot, one is probably a lawyer, and the last may even be a judge. Zero to three in brain development. "Lester was probably unconscious. Otherwise he would have fought," Tank said. "Do you think someone didn't notice a 6'2" unconscious man being carried aboard a train?"

"So where do we stand now?" Madge asked she asked the Rangemen trying to ignore her agents.

"Mexico. We are trying to track the aircraft but also crosschecking with anagrams of Salem's name. We are reviewing his known previous contacts. As Hector already stated, we have ruled out Colombia, but have not ruled out other countries in Central and South America. There is one other possibility, Salem may be returning to his Islamic roots. In that case, he could be heading to the Middle East or Asia." It was another lie, as Tank was sure at least one person in this room was a traitor.

"Where in the Middle East did he go? Do you think he went home to Syria?" asked the man in the brown suit.

Hector watched him intensely, first wondering if he slept in his clothes. Perhaps the man pulled the suit from an improperly packed suitcase.

Tank answered, "Maybe or any other country in the world with a large Muslim population such as Yemen, Oman, Morocco, Pakistan, Indonesia, Malaysia, Singapore, and the Philippines."

"Well hell, you might as well throw in Europe, Australia, and Antarctica. So what you are really saying is you've lost him?" the rumpled suit man shot back.

"Muslim terrorist penguins…" Hector mumbled.

"We will never give up," Bobby spoke for the first time. "If we need to check the other continents, we will."

Madge looked at Bobby Brown and noticed something in his eyes. She would talk to him privately.

"This has been a giant fuck up. Gentleman, review those photos and find that aircraft. Dr. Brown, I want to talk to you privately about the drug used on Enrique."

As the meet broke up, Tank whispered to Bobby, "Be careful what you tell her." Bobby did not need reminding. Bobby followed Aunt Madge from the conference room to a more secure office. "OK, I sense a snow job. There is a lot more your side was not saying in the meeting."

Bobby looked at Madge, "Madame Secretary, who is shoveling more now? Is it your side or ours? How did Salem just happen to be at Arlington the same time as Stephanie and at Manoso's gravesite? Did you contact him so you could capture him? How did you men get the wrong location?"

Madge looked unsettled. "We suspect a leak from here and now apparently so do you."

"Strange how a leak got Salem to the Manoso site, but not your team. Since your team failed to intercept Lester between Rangeman and Sandra's house, then completely disappeared, I'd say for certain you've secure information issues and a leadership problem."

Madge slammed down her blank face. If Dr. Brown worked for her, he would be dead meat insinuating her incompetence. Instead, she nodded, "I fired several agents."

"Are you sure you got the right ones?" Bobby asked.

Madge looked apprehensive. "If someone in there," referring to the conference room, "is responsible, that's treason."

"It takes more than one turncoat in an organization to continually have these colossal errors." Bobby continued.

Madge looked off for a moment. "The agent in the blue suit is being paid by a California Congress…person. The man in the grey suit is a retired judge. I'm trying to keep my enemies close."

"What about the brown suit man?"

"I'm not sure but a lot less confident about him now than I was earlier."

"Since you don't know who and there's no way we know, we cannot speak openly with your staff. If anything I'm about to tell you gets out, then we'll know you are in on the treason."

Madge was about to go ballistic but stopped. Under the circumstances, she could not blame Dr. Brown. "So you have more information," Madge asked hopefully.

"We strongly believe Salem's aircraft landed in Southeast Asia to refuel. It may have gone on to India, Bangladesh, but we do not think so. The exact final destination we are not sure. Our hunch is Malaysia or Borneo, maybe Mindanao and ISIS."

That's quite a difference, land or sea," Marge commented.

Bobby hardly heard her, "We've been researching other transport. We found a 58-meter yacht name _Nashib_ owned by Vilios Balerra, another anagram. Amal B. Dorales, another anagram, owns several properties in and around Mindanao including Malawi, the ISIS stronghold. While we have not found the _Nashib, _Salem may be somewhere near Panang. We haven't discounted he moved inland by road to Malawi."

"Vilios Balerra sounds almost Baltic. How does that tie in with Malawi and Salem?"

Bobby continued, "_Nashib_ is a town in Iran, the original birthplace of Salem Albadar. He is not Syrian. He is the son of a well-respected doctor and expected to go to medical school and take over his father's practice. Salem was interested in pharmacology. Then there was his sexual orientation, contrary to the Koran. His money comes from medical equipment theft and sales. He deals in pharmaceuticals and chemical weapons using a variety of names as we've already seen."

Madge was stunned. Her team of government experts did not have anywhere near this data. She was embarrassed Rangeman and Butler Security had more information than her top intelligence agency. Madge was now sure the leaks and obstructions were from within her organization. She needed a deeper housecleaning. Political appointments did not always provide the best employees.

"Why does he use so many different names?"

Bobby continued, "We don't know if he's hiding or he is an agent for someone. Ranger thought Salem was an opportunist, playing all sides even beyond Islamists."

"So is he an instigator?" Aunt Madge asked.

"He is a businessman as well as a mad scientist. He might be helping the causes, developing chemical weapons, and in return concealment."

"Why?"

"Hector is looking into it."

"I wish Hector worked for us," Madge mused.

Bobby laughed, but it was not a jolly laugh, "He doesn't tolerate the chin-deep Capitol Hill bull shit. You two agents, the brown suit and blue suit, had best keep their distance from him. He is a former gang banger and well as a highly trained assassin. Manoso saw the genius in him and offered him a new life."

"That explains the scars under his eye. Could Salem be waiting for Jose in Africa?"

"No. Salem will be far away from the scene, totally different continent."

"Manoso has been dead for years. Why is Salem on the hunt again? Could this be retribution on Manoso's team's original assignment where they thought they killed him? Is Salem trying to kill the remaining members?"

"Why kidnap them? He could pop them off anywhere." Bobby asked though he already knew. Rick had relayed Salem's intentions. After all, Salem never expected Carlos Manoso to survive.

Madge looked uncomfortable, "Since he poisoned Jose, then maybe Lester, Sandra, and Stephanie are test subjects for his chemical experiments."

"How did he learn about Stephanie and Sandra?"

"If a leak from here reached Salem's ear that Ranger's girlfriend was back on the radar, she may have been too tempting a target."

Since Salem is gay, we can assume taking the women was not for his sexual gratification. Maybe they are a gift to his staff."

"So all three are test subjects." Madge fumed.

"Four, you forgot Stevens. Another bit of information you failed to tell us."

Madge shifted directions, "Is there any progress on the drug or drugs?"

"None." It was not quite a lie. Scientists and biologists immediately recognized the poison used on Jose was similar to the one used on Manoso. Unfortunately, the complex nature of the evil cocktail had caused research to step aside as it was used only one other time, on Manoso. Money needed to continue research depended on the potential to cause widespread damage. "If someone, say from this office, is looking to steal the information, they have a very long wait. Or are they covering for Salem?"

Once again, Madge tried to hide her reaction to Bobby's accusation, but she was as uncertain as he was about her security agency. Addressing Bobby Madge began, "I am cutting this office off from the search and will cite the failure to protect. I am secretly assigning Angela to be the contractor. Help her any way you can. Find Salem and terminate. Destroy all his chemicals and notes. There are people in the world who will want his work, probably in this government and maybe this building. I do not want his poison used on anyone else. The Army is still upset with me for losing Manoso. They lent him to me. No more will die by Salem's hand or drugs."

"Yes, ma'am."

Madge turned and passed through yet another door. One of the guards entered the room with Bobby and indicated he would take Bobby back through the warren to the main lobby. Bobby could find his way, he was paying attention but let the guard do his job.


	8. Chapter 8 Prodigal Returns

**Chapter 8 Prodigal returns**

The three Rangemen said nothing about the mission while in flight to Trenton. They did not want to risk their aircraft had listening devices. It may be leased to Rangeman, but Washington workers serviced it. Hector used a bug detector before they left the ground but was not satisfied the aircraft was clean. Hopefully, Salem's knockout chemical used on Enrique and Stephanie had not been applied to the aircraft interior.

Tank and Hector conversed in Spanish, but the conversations were banal; they spoke about anything but the kidnappings. Trusting Aunt Madge was a stretch right now. Either she or someone in her organization was not playing aboveboard. Why did a Congresswoman have a plant in Madge's office? Were the traitors working with Salem Albadar, ISIS, some third party? They did not know.

Bobby remained quiet. His mind raced through Jose's laboratory results. The drug was a simpler version of the one given Ranger. Finally, Bobby had a hunch. Parts appeared to be from natural toxins. Were they plants or animals he encountered in the jungle on a mission with Ranger, years ago? What jungle? There had been too many, too many countries.

The plane landed smoothly at the Trenton-Mercer county airport. It was a small airport, only a couple of carriers serviced it. General aviation, private aircraft accounted for the majority of the business such as the leased Rangeman aircraft. A Suburban waited to transport Hector, Bobby, and Tank back to the office.

Once at Haywood, Bobby detoured to one of the apartments on the fourth floor and knocked softly. There was rustling before Enrique/Jose answered looking worse for wear. Bobby was pleased; Jose was on his feet. "You look like hell."

"Fuck you, Dr. Brown."

Bobby laughed. Jose would live. "Can you get up to the 5th floor? We are having a meeting after talking with Aunt Madge."

Jose and Bobby entered Tank's office. Charles, Hector's #2, finished clearing the room for listening devices. After spending time in the cramped jet, nobody wanted to sit down. On the other hand, Jose zeroed in on the couch before he fell over.

Tank began, "Never have I wanted to smash three faces in as I did this morning. Where did Madge come up with those Bozo's?"

"At least one is a mole for a Congresswoman," Bobby hissed. "Apparently Congress doesn't have enough to do, they have to spy on other agencies."

"I hate politicians, especially Capitol Hill idiots," grumbled the big man. "Five hundred and thirty-five white collar criminals wasting money on needless investigations, junkets, and patting themselves on the back parties. We should send them all to Gitmo."

Hector nodded, "That's why we need to get Lester back. He can schmooze those people. You just piss them off."

Tank chuckled, "Yeah and I love doing it." He picked up a water bottle and drained it before continuing. "I noticed Aunt Madge did not call us off the hunt."

"Probably because we were way ahead of her idiots," Hector mumbled. Hector had long ago abandoned speaking only Spanish. He had become an essential leader in the organization and needed everyone understanding him.

Bobby chimed in, "She is giving Angela the sanction. We are to help in any way possible. Hell, even if we weren't the first team, we'll find a way to finish this once and for all."

Hector gave a small, sinister laugh, "Like we would bring Salem back for trial, well, maybe just a portion of him."

"Madge is isolating her office from further investigation citing incompetence plus she doesn't trust her advisers."

"No shit," Tank almost laughed. "I'm sure Madge has already contacted Angela. We need to start coordinating efforts. What resources do we have in the Philippines?"

Hector nodded, "We don't have anyone current."

Jose spoke up, "Angela has teams in Manila and Singapore. The Philippine agents are former Special Forces, theirs and ours. They speak all the regional languages. I worked with Stefan two years ago. He's good, very good."

Bobby looked at Jose, "No way I am releasing you to go to the Philippines to join the team."

Jose nodded, "I understand, but it doesn't mean I like it."

"So we are back up, supplying information," Tank grunted. "We have to make it appear we are doing something though, Lester is one of us."

"You mean we supply the diversions in case Madge's exalted idiots are watching?" Bobby asked.

"Exactly. We will consult with Angela on how we can beat the bushes elsewhere while she goes about business."

"I tried to push a Central and South America connection for diversion from the Philippines. We can make noise down there. Can we pull the Pentagon in on this?" Hector asked.

"Frankly knowing Madge's office is infested, I'm less likely to trust any other organizations," Bobby said.

"Hell, we will have to create a smoke screen for the entire frigging government," Tank nearly spat.

"Do we have resources to cover all our offices and still send a team down there?" Bobby asked.

"We have the manpower, it's the money I worry about," Tank said. Even smoke screens cost money."

Bobby spoke up, "Are we going to contact Rick?"

Hector had long ago figured out Ranger was alive living under the name Enrique Delgado. "And tell him what? Your wife, your cousin and his fiancée have been kidnapped and drugged like you?"

"You damn better," said the man standing between Hal and Cal inside the closed door. Nobody heard it open, and the three enter the room. Hal and Cal stood without expression flanking a man in cowboy boots, tan trousers, a white western shirt. His hair was buzz-cut all around. His face was dark, partially covered by a beard and mustache. He was wearing sunglasses, which he was in the process of removing. On his head sat a buff-colored Stetson. It was Ranger.

Hector jumped to his feet, went over to Ranger and delivered an impressive right cross to the face, "_Me has hecho descubrir yo mismo._" (You made me figure it out myself)

Ranger saw the hit coming but did not block it, Hector needed to vent. "_Si alguien pudo, sabía sería_," he said rubbing his jaw. _Cuánto tiempo hace que conoce?_" (How long have you known)

Hector grinned knowing he had bested Ranger Manoso and answered in flawless English. "I was Helen of Troy, your beta tester for your first two war games. You tried to hide your location. It was easy to find, which was the same city as Butler Security. I knew _Angelita's _moved there."

"When the fuck did you start speaking English?" Rick was surprised.

"When I lost these," he said pointing to his scars where the teardrop tattoos had been.

Rick was about to ask if Hector had found a mate, but Hector beat him with an explanation, "_Angelita_ was devastated, and we couldn't help. She left and started over. I decided not to hide anymore. If I had been more open, maybe I could have helped her."

Tank spoke up, "We brought Hector into the command team when he got his act together."

Turning back to Hector Ranger continued, "I assume you have already expressed your anger on the other two."

Tank and Bobby silently nodded. The confrontation was legendary. Fortunately not too much blood was spilled as Hector was also relieved Ranger was alive.

Looking at Jose who he had seen ten days ago in Albuquerque, Rick said, "You look like hell, Jose."

"Just a little cocktail from Salem," Jose answered.

"And you are awake?" gasped a surprised Rick.

"Apparently he's created some new potions. This was a little aperitif."

"You couldn't have been out very long."

Jose looked at Bobby who answered, "Fifty-seven hours as near as I can tell. It was a simpler version of what you were given."

With more compassion, Rick asked, "How are you feeling?"

"I'll be happy when the pins and needles go away," Jose answered slowly.

"Yeah," Rick nodded remembering it took almost six months for the pain to go away for him. Probably for Jose it will be short lived.

Tank grumbled, "Are you frigging nuts, Rick? You can't be walking around Trenton let alone in here."

"I damn near didn't get in here. Cal had his weapon drawn, and Hal did a complete interrogation. I told Cal if he did a strip search, I would rip the tattoo Easter lily off his left ass cheek and then pound him into dog food on the mats. Otherwise, I would have been waiting here when you arrived."

Cal spoke, "It was the tattoo comment that made us look more carefully. Only Ranger called it an Easter lily. It's bad enough that this guy," waving a hand towards Jose Castillo who Cal only knew as Enrique Delgado, "looks like Ranger, but in walks this damn cowboy look-alike with another Enrique Delgado ID. He tried to handcuff him. That did not work. All the while he insisted on taking a finger and retinal scans and calling us by name with a few extra Spanish expletives."

Hal continued, "How long has he been in the system as Carlos Manoso and Enrique Delgado? The more I talked to him and looked, I realized this was Ranger in costume."

Rick shot back, "This is no costume or disguise. This is who and what I am now. Carlos Manoso is dead and buried in Arlington."

Cal shook his head, "So there are two Enrique Delgados?"

The Enrique/Jose nodded.

"And Steph is…?" Cal stopped a minute, looked back and forth between the two Enriques. "Steph is married to this one but travels with that one?"

Tank nodded, "Dismissed you two and I need not tell you to keep your mouths shut."

Hal turned to leave, "Welcome back boss."

Rick growled, "I'm not back nor your boss. I'm Rick or Enrique."

"Wait," Tank ordered Hal before he opened the door. "We need to decide right now what we are going to call these two outside of this office."

The two Enriques looked at each other. "We weren't supposed to be seen together," Enrique/Rick mumbled.

Bobby frowned, "You can't be twins with the same name, plus you Rick are older. You could be cousins. Enrique is a family favorite, maybe named after a grandfather. One goes by Enrique and the other something else, say Cowboy. You both detest the name Rick."

"OK, what else," Rick asked.

Jose showed off his tattoo on his forearm, "Marine, what about you Cowboy?"

"Hell, I've got too many scars to say no service."

"Any look like rodeo scars?" Jose asked.

"A few, but most are bullet scars, not .45 caliber bull horns."

"You could be a Navy SEAL."

Rick sneered, "You expect a Ranger to call himself a SEAL?"

"I would rather be a Marine dog." It was a dig at Jose's service.

"I'm sure Ram would love to hear you say that, Rick," Bobby chuckled.

"Fine, SEALS it is, but no tattoos."

"Pussy," Hector mumbled from across the room.

"So where are you from, Cowboy?" Jose asked with a smile underlying the more severe need for a cover story.

Rick growled in his Cuban-Jersey accent, "West Texas."

Jose laughed though it appeared painful, "Not even close to a Texas accent. Try again."

This time Rick concentrated on South Florida Cuban accent, "South Florida."

Jose shook his head, "Yeah, you could be from South Florida."

Rick grumbled, "I lived there for four years."

"OK, then Cowboy is from South Florida. Where are you from Jose?" Bobby asked.

Slipping into a much thicker Texas accent, Jose said, "Texas, sir, _Wes' Texas. Mah wi:f Stephanie's muther passed un we caim for the fun:ral." _

"Why did you say Texas, not New Mexico?" Tank asked.

Jose answered, "People here believe Stephanie lives in Texas or Mexico, not New Mexico. Maybe her father is keeping the story loose."

"OK, you are from West Texas. Hell, you need a Texas driver's license fast. Hector?" Tank said.

"I'm on it," Hector said looking at his phone. Looking at Enrique/Jose he asked, "I've found your pre-beard license photo. Where in Texas do you want to live?"

"Let's make it Sabinal, west of San Antonio. There are also Sabinals in Mexico and in New Mexico. Address best be a post office box. We ranch folks don't have mailing addresses," he said smiling at Rick.

"What about me?" Rick asked.

"I've got you outside of Arcadia, Florida, Desoto County."

"That's actual cattle country."

"I know," Hector said as he continued to tap on his phone. "I will use a beard photo."

"It'll do," Tank said and again dismissed Hal and Cal.

After Hal and Cal walked out and shut the door, Rick nodded to Tank, "Your show."

Tank began, "As you originally figured out, Salem enjoys his anagrams. He has several new ones. There may be more, but we have yet to find. We believe he has Lester and Turner as retribution for your mission years ago. We do not know why he took Stephanie or Sandra Silas, Lester's fiancée. One belief is he believes you are alive and using Stephanie as bait. Sandra may have been insurance Lester behaves."

"No, he is not looking for me. I am dead. He came after Lester and Turner. Angela was assured by Aunt Madge Steph would be protected. How the hell did Salem find her?"

Bobby stepped in, "We just returned from a meeting with Aunt Madge. Her group wanted to hang Stephanie out to see if she attracted Salem. "

Ranger wanted to roar but controlled himself. "They used her as bait?" he hissed.

Enrique-Jose continued, "We encountered him at your grave at Arlington. She was wearing a mic and I got pictures. They were sent to you."

"I have not seen them, I'm using a different phone."

Tank swung his computer around, "Here, look at these."

Ranger walked over and looked down, "Yeah, that's him."

"He and Steph talked briefly. She played the grieving friend never insinuating there was more," Jose finished.

"How the hell did he know she would be there? Where was the takedown plan? How the fuck did he walk away?"

Tank continued, "Our questions too."

"We believe there's a mole in Washington, particularly Madge's office," Bobby added. "Madge admitted one of her staff is a plant by a Congresswoman."

Ranger nodded slightly, "I had the same feeling in Columbia. The whole return operation, her operation, was a fuck up from day one. I made a mistake in the first one of not confirming the kill the first time. When I went back to finish the job, he was waiting." Rick looked back to Tank, "So where are you now? I hope that you are ahead of Aunt Madge's band of idiots."

"We've been less than honest with Madge's team stressing we'd be looking in Central and South America. In reality, we have tracked Salem as far as Zamboanga City, Mindanao, Philippines. He has either moved to Malawi or sailed off to one of the hundreds of islands that make up the southern Philippines. Problem is his yacht has a long cruising range. If he transported by water, they could be as far away as Malaysia or Borneo."

"Do we, do you have assets nearby?"

Bobby shook his head, "We have nothing. Aunt Madge secretly gave the sanction to Angela but no support least she tip-off the mole in her office. I got the impression she is embarrassed Hector here outdid her exalted staff at our meeting. Angela is probably moving teams to Mindanao. We are to supply support from here."

Tank continued, "In the meantime we need to set up a smoke screen down south to draw Madge's attention away from Southeast Asia. Madge said she was breaking off from the investigation, but I do not believe all her staff will. We will work with Nick Butler in coordinating the ruse."

Rick shook his head, "Politically the Philippines are a mess. Of course, Salem is always close to chaos, this time ISIS in Mindanao. That will give him cover. You know damn well I want in on the take-down."

"Of course, Angela is probably trying to reach you now," Tank said. "And we will try to keep Madge at bay."

"Good luck on that," Enrique/Jose sneered. "I'll do what I can to keep her away."

"Ah, you are still unofficially unconscious. We are going to have to find a way to integrate you back in slowly," Bobby said.

"I could go help Steve with the ranch while Rick is away. It would appear Mr. Delgado has returned home."

"If Angela approves, that's a good suggestion," Tank said shaking his head in approval. "That is if the ranch owner approves."

Ranger looked at Jose, "Do you have the experience?"

"My family raised cows, dairy cows. I figure the same stuff goes in the front as comes out back. The difference is I will not be milking them. As far as ranch upkeep, the repairs are the same."

Ranger nodded his approval, "Clear it with Angela and Nick." Then turning to Tank, "What has Frank Plum been told?"

"At first we weren't going to tell him, but he called here inquiring about Enrique and his daughter. I had to tell him, but not the details."

"He's a former Special Forces. He can keep a secret."

"He just lost his wife," Enrique/Jose said.

"He's probably chewing nails worrying about you and Stephanie," Rick said to Jose.

"We'll bring him in today," Tank said.

**-0-**

When Frank received the call from Tank to come for a briefing, he wanted to drive to Haywood immediately.

"Mr. Plum, I'd rather send a car for you, please. We do not want you followed. We don't want to put you at risk."

"By whom?"

"United States traitors," Tank said simply.

"Understood. I'll be waiting." Frank had never been inside the Haywood Street building. He came through the garage entry, not usually the entrance for civilians. Tank met him at the door. After handing him a visitor pass, they went to the second-floor conference room. All cameras and microphones were scrambled.

Upon entering the conference room with Tank, Frank gasped. Sitting at the table were two identical men. He did not blubber out a question, he slowly looked at each man then turning to Jose he said, "Jose" and then turning to Rick he said, "Rick. I haven't seen you two together since Albuquerque."

"We are trying to limit being seen together. If we are, he's Enrique, and I'm Cowboy, cousins."

Frank nodded but said nothing.

"You've been telling people here Stephanie, and I are in Texas," Rick began.

"No sir that was Helen. She was embarrassed to tell people her daughter moved to Mexico. I know I told her New Mexico, but I did not correct her. She started the Texas rumor. I saw no reason to change it. In fact, I'm not certain at all where you two do live."

"It's best you don't. Tank is your information source," Rick mumbled.

"OK, what is the update? I thought we were finished with all this shit," Frank huffed out.

Tank began, "The man that killed Ranger Manoso came for another of my men. Your daughter and another woman are collateral damage."

"Is she dead?"

"We don't know."

"Do you know where she might be?"

"Somewhere in Southeast Asia."

Frank had spent two ugly years in the jungles of Viet Nam and Laos. He groaned.

Rick spoke quietly, "I, we, are going to find her and bring her home. Tank and Hector will remain here helping with high-tech surveillance. Bobby is going to the University of Texas Medical Branch, Center for Tropical Diseases to study the poison given Jose and me. Rangeman is going to be tapping our contacts in Central and South America looking for the kidnapper to draw government eyes away from Southeast Asia. We know Washington has traitors masquerading as concerned citizens. Everyone is out for self-aggrandizement. Some are simple backstabbers, others would be guilty of treason if enough righteous people would step up and clean house. Angela, the woman you met in Albuquerque, will run the actual hunt. I will be part of the team."

Frank remembered Angela Butler from New Mexico. "Is she qualified?" Frank asked. Frank had gone to Albuquerque to see his wayward daughter only to discover she was married to Enrique Delgado. Frank immediately recognized Ranger.

"Yes. I trained her years ago. She has more than enough experience and she is still working Special Ops. She has the overseas teams already assembled. The question is what to do with Jose here? He needs to be away from Trenton before people start wondering about Stephanie."

"People are already wondering, damn Burg," Frank hissed.

"Yes, we've had a few calls as well," Tank said. "Frank, we want you to tell people Stephanie and Enrique had an emergency at the ranch and had to get back. You don't know what type, but they were quite concerned and had to leave quickly."

"I've had it with the Burg," Frank began. "I wanted to leave years ago, but Helen refused. I am selling the house and moving someplace warm and sunny. I may have found a position for Albert with a cousin in South Carolina. Valerie and family need to leave the Burg before it destroys more Plum women. Stephanie got the hell out of here. It is my turn. All I ask, Rick, bring my daughter and your man back. Leave no man behind."

"You can count on it, Frank," Rick assured his father-in-law.

"Frank, stay in touch, and I promise to keep you informed," Tank said.

**-0-**

Ranger reflections

I sure as hell never expected to be in this building again. Ranger Manoso was dead and gone. I have to be careful about walking around here, walking in Tank's shadow as he scrambles the camera feeds. I keep my head down with my Stetson in place and concentrate on walking differently. It is not hard since I am wearing cowboy boots. I do not dare speak. Fortunately, the staff keeps to their job, rarely looking up. Hector is answering questions. I am Enrique Delgado's cousin, Cowboy. I came to Trenton from Florida in hopes of meeting my cousin's wife. Now she is missing along with someone named Lester.

Do I miss this life? Hell yes. I was top dog in Special Ops contracting. The Core Team built the four-city Rangeman corporation in only a few years because of the money we earned doing Spec Ops contracts. We brought our military training to the job. The command structure was set and remains set. It is the reason for our success. I wanted to give my mens' lives purpose after service. We were all suffering from combat stress, even PTSD and needed structure to ease our way back. I knew, though, I could never leave the life. The chase and combat were like a drug and I was severely addicted. I sold my soul to it. Death was an after-thought. Forty years of age seemed impossible, and some missions living to see 35 was problematic. If I were severely injured, I would eat a bullet before I came home crippled.

Bobby was the first to go civilian. He wanted to complete his medical degree. Tank came next. He found himself taking too many undisciplined chances and recognized he was trying to end his life. I got him to the head doctor in time. He quit contract work and finished his term as one hell of a training officer. Something he continues here at Rangeman. Lester was still doing contract work when I "died." Bobby found him looking down his weapon's barrel one evening in the parking garage at Rangeman and got him committed for a few months.

Miami, not Trenton was the original Rangeman hub. However, the first meeting with the woman with the curly dark hair and incredible blue eyes knocked me for a loop. I found my love though I would never be able to make her mine. My expected lifeline was short. In a way, Babe kept me alive. I was more careful in planning missions. I looked at every possible alternative that would keep me safe, even it if meant extending a job.

Keeping close to Stephanie allowed me to repair my relationship with my family. I was furious they sent me to Miami at fourteen. I had street creds with the gangs, I was headed somewhere. Most likely, though, I was headed to prison or Woodlawn cemetery. My _Abuela_ straightened me out, made me stay in school and study. I entered Rutgers as a sophomore and worked my ass off, graduating in two years. I had honed my natural leadership skills and wanted to continue lawfully. The Army made sense. We fit like a hand in glove. I was a leader, respected, and awarded up one side and down another, secretly as my work was top secret. Then came FARC, Columbia and Silvio Alberra, also known as Salem Albadar.

We had been chasing him around Miraflores for months. Once separated from his FARC protectors, we had him isolated on a cliff. We were down to six men, two barely hanging on. We needed to end and get the _hell out of Dodge_. We fired, all of us hitting him and he fell back over the cliff. We stood and watched his body for any movement. "We should verify the kill," Stevens said. Nobody wanted to climb down that cliff. "Fuck it," Santos said and we pretty much agreed. We left.

Imagine my horror to discover he survived. Our bullets did not do the job nor did the fall over the cliff. My team would go down a second time and bring back his frigging head. Only this time we were the hunted from the moment we got to Columbia. I was the only one to survive an ambush, but I was captured.

I assumed I would end up in Hell after death. I was right, except I did not die first. I was tortured, that was expected. What was unexpected were the drug experiments. Some were excruciating painful or psychedelic nightmares. Before administering the final drugs, the bastard detailed what would happen to me explaining he had learned these fantastic formulas from the natives after they rescued him and cured him. He was in a coma for months, not able to move, speak or see. He was trapped in eternal darkness with only his thoughts. He wanted to cry out in fear but could not move. He could only hear. Eventually, the hearing disappeared, but the mind continued churning in total darkness and cold. When the natives awakened him, he felt reborn, he had endured Jahannam, Hell, eternal darkness. Hell was not fire, but total and complete isolation from warmth, light, noise. Allah had forgotten him.

Then the bastard apologized. There would be no awakening for me. He did not have the formula. Instead, I would slowly die. If I were smart, I'd spend my conscious time atoning for my sins. Perhaps Allah was merciful he would carry me to the light. If not, my punishment would be eternal darkness and cold.

My natural being plus my military training was to fight for life, no matter how stinking bad. I had been captured before, but as long as I remained alive, I felt I was beating my captures. Except with Salem. He kept reminding me there was no antidote. I was going down a long slow slide to Jahannam, Islam's Hell. All I could hear was his voice, laughing, boasting how he was helping us atone for our sins before we judgement. To block out his voice, I began praying. I had not prayed since attending church with my Abuela. The words were slow to come to mind, but I felt them with my soul. I prayed for Stephanie and my men. I prayed for my family and I even asked God to forgive me. As long as I could pray, I was alive. Could I pray when I was dead?

I remembered sounds coming back. They were white noise and meant nothing. Yet, it was something, and I had to find the source. Then came the light. Like a tiny pinprick, it was significant because it was different. I started yearning to touch it. Gradually the light increased in size. It became my beacon. Like someone trapped in a cave, the light was my only hope to return to the surface. The noise was still noise, but the light changed from bright to dark. If I waited, it became bright again, and I could concentrate on it. Then the light had movement, darker or lighter light was moving through the field. The noise was changing. Sometimes it was comforting, other times harsh.

Over time the noise became familiar. One type was especially soothing. I yearned to hear it, like Odysseus yearning to hear the Sirens. The noise was so comforting. I had to find a way to touch it. The sound was my Babe's voice.

As I recovered in the VA hospital, Angela told me I was declared dead to protect me in my very vulnerable situation. At first, I was furious. How dare she save my life only to rip it from me? However, Babe was with me, and I realized we finally had a chance at a real life together without Ranger Manoso ruining it. The downside was I could no longer have contact with Julie, my family and or Rangeman. Angela and Babe kept telling me Bobby and Tank were aware of my being alive but had to be careful about contacting me. My heart leaped when my two friends, brothers, Tank and Bobby walked up to me at the hospital patio. My place in the universe had been reestablished. I could become someone new. I had been Marc Pardo many times, but now this my life. A life shared with my heart, Babe.

Angela and Nick were exact telling Babe and me what we could and could not do. We would have to avoid publicity of any kind. We needed new backgrounds to go with our names. Babe continued to work for Butler for a while as I recovered. The check Tank handed Stephanie when he brought her to Albuquerque was solely hers not counting the twice-yearly bonus payment as a Rangeman partner. Never could I imagine Babe would be spending a portion of her inheritance from my death to purchase a house for us and later the first cattle ranch in Colorado. I had written several war games programs and sold them for multi-million dollar price tags each. I was paying my way again.

We chose the second cattle ranch for its isolation. Though officially dead, someone may still recognize me. The work is physical, something I enjoy. After time in combat, the quiet soothed my nerves. I expected Babe to balk at being away from the city madness, but like the couple escaping in Riders of the Purple Sage, we found our new life together in an isolated canyon.

Now I am back at Rangeman, looking for Stephanie, my wife. My fears something would arise from the past and endanger her finally happened. Even my actual death would not have protected her. It was my fault entirely. If I had climbed down that cliff and confirmed the kill, perhaps separating Salem's head from his body on the first mission, others would not have died.

It was time to find her. I took out my phone and called Angela.


	9. Chapter 9 Lost without Hope

A/N: Sorry I'm a few days late posting. Thank you for your patience...and support.

**Chapter 9 Lost without Hope**

**Stephanie POV**

As I stood on the veranda, I had no clue where I was. I was sure it wasn't the Caribbean. Though I had been there only once with Ranger in our previous life, the plants were different. My years studying botany in NW Colorado had taught me how to look at plants critically. Though I know very little about island ecology, the ecosystem here looks like it is swept clean and regrown every few years. I assume it was not due to forest, ah, jungle fire. Was the island washed clean by a hurricane? For sure there are no large deciduous hardwoods or other long-lived perennials.

I looked up at the sky, blue with fluffy white clouds that threatened rain. The rain was always welcome at the ranch, keeping the grass growing. My heart ached as much from the drug as my despair. Where was Rick? Could he find me? Would he be in time? Tears started rolling down my cheeks. Sobbing or a full bawl was out of the question. This damn drug in me prevented me from expressing my emotions. Wiping my cheeks with my hands, I took a big cleaning breath and turned back into the house, my prison.

As the man said, there was limited electricity. Apparently, it all went to his lab as aside from a ceiling fan high up above the staircase, illumination was by kerosene lanterns. Being a ranch wife, I didn't find that particularly frightening as I remember power outages. Still, the previous Jersey-girl would be off kilter with the lack of modern conveniences for television, a computer, or even a hairdryer. I dare not complain, or I might end up in eternal darkness.

So far, my captor had not made sexual advances towards me. Perhaps he was gay or just looking for company. Since he had yet to identify himself, I had to address him as Sir least I accidentally call him by name. He would then find a way to get me to talk and perhaps reveal Ranger Manoso was still alive.

After several weeks, the man relaxed enough with me to ask if I wanted to tend "his other guests." I was so bored the thought of my possible duties were not as bad as the boredom. After all, as a ranch woman, I have stuck my hands up the rear end of cows and mares to help with difficult births. Chickens for dinner do not always come wrapped in clear plastic. After plucking and gutting my first chicken, I really missed Cluck in a Bucket. I have removed more dog vomit from the kitchen floor than I care to think about. Bob Dog has an affinity for horse "apples," and they don't always agree with him. How bad could care for three humans be?

One of the humans was Lester. He and I had been a special friend. At one point, I thought if Ranger and I could not get together then Les and I would. The more I thought about that I realized it would strain the relationship not only between the two cousins but also with the other men at Rangeman.

My captor led the way to the lower level and the room he jokingly called The Lounge. All three individuals were without clothing but partially hidden behind mosquito netting suspended over them. In this climate, it seemed kind not to burden them with clothing. Salem carefully showed me the daily routine of feeding, cleaning, and emptying their waste containers. "We don't want bedsore especially in this climate," the man said and showed me how to move each body every few hours to a new position.

"You do this work yourself?" I asked.

"Up to now, yes. I expected only Stevens and Santos. The woman was a stupid mistake. I should have left her. The island guards are men. I don't trust them not to molest her." I had seen other men at a distance, never near the house.

"When you complete your work, you record it here. Make special note of anything unusual such as sores, diarrhea, or urine decrease. We don't want them to become ill."

I tried not to react to his concern about illness, but he caught my near eye roll. It was a bad habit from Trenton days I hadn't eliminated entirely.

"You wonder why I don't want them, or you, to become ill. My reasons for you being here are many, but suffice to say, right now, you are my test subjects. My research would be flawed if you were to become ill. To continue my work, you must remain well."

Well, heck, I was a lab rat. Not someone who stayed close to the lab working on experiments, I was the rat being probed and poked. The thought of being dissected after death brought bile to my mouth. I don't know I kept from vomiting all over Sir Salem's tan trousers.

The new job kept me from going insane. Each morning and evening, I tended all three. I made a point to speak to each as I worked. Of course, it was a one-way conversation. I cried when I talked to Les, as much as for myself as well as for Salem if he was listening. I explained why Tank drove Bob and me to Albuquerque, to start a new life. I never mentioned the Butlers, though he probably knew as Angela was also his cousin. To keep information from Salem, I said I worked in an office where I did not embarrass myself anymore and met a man who came to love me. No way could I mention my husband was Les' cousin, Carlos. I told Les this new man in my life had great patience to put up with the furniture-eating dog and me. I did not mention Bob was a dog and nothing about Jacob.

I figured Les didn't need to hear my tears anymore but needed encouragement to hang on. I wanted to tell Lester his cousin had survived this, but I was never sure if Salem was listening. One day I could no longer hold back and got down to Lester's ear and told him his cousin, Ranger, had survived this torture and Les could as well.

Sandra was unknown. Was she a typical Lester woman or had he found one with courage and strength? My early talks were about Lester and some of the crazy things I had seen him do and how he will be an excellent husband and no doubt loving father. Though Lester was older than she, it took him time to get his head straight. He was fortunate to find a woman who could handle him. Once I was sure Salem wasn't listening, I repeatedly told her I knew someone who had survived this hell. She had to remain strong. I reminded her I had been given the drug but was being kept conscious day by day. As long as I could I would help her, tend to her, but she needed to fight back any way she could. "Pray for all of us, Sandra," I urged.

Like my hair, hers became unmanageable in the heat. I apologized as it cut it short. "I'm sorry Sandra, there is very little water here and tending your lovely golden hair is too difficult. It will grow back when this is all over." Remaining positive was difficult as I did not see a happy ending for us.

Turner Stevens was a complete unknown, except he was a living and breathing human. I talked to him, but I doubted he could hear. Rick had mentioned after a while all outside stimulation ceased. I kept our conversation general, telling him about the life in Trenton, the Burg's insane relationship with the past, and my love for hockey. I tried not to mention specific people. Instead, I talked to entertain myself. I regaled him with stories about my failed first marriage, loving two men in Trenton only to have both die within weeks of one another, and of my love of junk food. I dare not mention specific people least they could be in danger. I made no mention of my new life with Rick.

Daily I recorded my work. It was my only calendar though the date had no relevance as I knew I would not leave this island alive. My life was a never-ending hell but not as the horrors Turner, Lester and Sandra went through when they arrived. Rick tried to explain the terrors of being paralyzed and unable to see or feel, but still conscious. Soon Les and Sandra would enter the darkness. I prayed they had the internal strength to hang on.

Salem had not replenished the solution used to clean the feeding tubes. Perhaps extra was in the laboratory. I knocked asking permission to enter, but there was no reply. Out of habit, I tried the door to the laboratory which was usually locked. This day it was open. Walking in I was surprised to discover the room was cool relative to the rest of the house. Pulling on all the cabinets and drawers, I found them locked. I sat down and looked around wondering what each cabinet held. Suddenly I realized concrete was an anomaly. How was this floor made? Concrete is made with fresh water. The walls were cinder block and required mortar to build. How did any of this stuff get here?

I scanned the laboratory equipment. Some were sizable. How did they get here? Tears came to my eyes, was this where the drugs were made? The overwhelming urge was to smash every item, but I knew I was signing my death warrant as well as the three people in the next room. Crying was too painful, all I could do was sob quietly until I fell asleep. Salem found me on the floor.

"How did you get in here?" He was surprised and angry.

"I needed more cleaning solution for the feeding tubes. The door was unlocked."

Why are you on the floor? Are you ill?" Suddenly he was concerned. He tended to switch emotions quickly. The man killed me but was keeping me alive and now showed concern I was ill, what a joke, but I dare not laugh.

"No, it's cooler down here in this room, especially on the floor."

"You didn't touch anything did you?"

"I tried the cabinets, but they were locked. As for everything else, this room looks like a futuristic kitchen and since I can't cook, why would I want to explore. But now that you are here is there a pint of Ben and Jerry's somewhere?" I looked at what I knew to be an autoclave. "Maybe that's the freezer?"

"What is Ben and Jerry's," he asked.

"Ice cream." I was shocked he didn't know Ben and Jerry's.

"No ice cream," he said almost apologetically, "No freezer."

Liar, I thought, I knew what a liquid nitrogen tank looked like, exactly like what was in the corner. "Sir, fresh water is limited, how were these two room built?" I was back to thinking about the concrete floors.

He looked at me suspiciously, "Why do you ask?"

"Concrete and mortar require fresh water. You said we were on an island and fresh was was scarce. Where did the fresh water come from to make these rooms?"

He seemed perplexed. Up to now, I had not asked questions or shown any real knowledge of anything other than personal care of myself and my three charges. For me to ask about concrete and mortar was out of character.

"I originally had this built by hiring fresh water brought in by ship like I do fuel oil and propane now. The rest of the materials came the same way. The solar panels provide our electricity. The fuel oil powers the desalination plant to provide limited water for this house and the guard's facilities. The house is designed to use natural convection for cooling aided by several fans. End of discussion. It is dinner time."

"Sir, the cleaning solution?"

"Start upstairs, I will get a new bottle."

-0-

Wherever this island was, it was hotter than hell. I tried not to dwell on that last word too long. I thought I knew humidity as I was from New Jersey. Now I find the climate nearly unbearable. This was jungle or what I suspected was a jungle. If it weren't for the cooler concrete floor in the lab or the breeze on the second-floor veranda, I would have melted into a disgusting puddle long ago.

After dinner, we went outside for a short walk. I admired the unusual plants while also watching for the deadly snakes. No, I was not in the Caribbean. Perhaps my island hell is in Asia or India. He did say we were on an island, so more likely Asia; Indonesia, or elsewhere in the Pacific or the Indian Ocean. Well, it was not like I was getting off this island wherever it is. Nothing would mark my passing. I'd probably be thrown to the crocs.

The man always walked outside with me. I could not think of Salem least I accidentally call him by name. "Sir, you said there were crocodiles on this island. Are they close?"

"Normally they stay on the other side of the island. I've only seen a few over here. They are good swimmers and will swim from island to island. I always carry a rifle when outside. Every one of the guards carries a handgun, rifle, and a machete. Some are quite skilled cobra killers."

I thought a mass hunt was in order, but then what would the crocs eat? "Do the men kill the crocs as well?"

"When they want something different to eat."

"Do they eat the snakes?" I almost gagged.

"Cobra meat, blood, bile and venom have many curative properties as well as being nutritious."

I tried not to shudder. I sincerely hoped some of the "fish" I had been eating wasn't cobra meat. "I've seen sharks near the shore," I casually mentioned. I didn't fashion myself as their lunch. Would a shark go into eternal rest if he ate me? How did this toxin stay in my body? Why didn't natural defenses kick it out? I should have studied medicine. Heck, there was still time, what else was I going to do?

He nodded, "They come up to the beach. They'll chase their prey into shallow water and sometimes get themselves stranded until a wave carries them back out or a croc gets them."

After months of confinement, I was reevaluating my love of the ocean. It is one thing to be on a public beach or resort beach, but quite another to be marooned on an island. There was no sun-bathing on the beach. I would be terrified something might sneak up on me. The water contained sharks close enough to come onto the beach. I could write yet another sequel to the movie "Jaws."

The ocean's magic rhythm became my temptress calling to me but wanting to take my life. I came to hate the surf sound as I was having nightmares about various animals as the surf crashed against the beach. This was no paradise.

Even the food was limited and quickly dull. Rice and the cassava paste was the main starch. Fish was the main protein, some better than others. At least I hoped it was all fish. Plantains were either starchy or sometimes sweet, more like a banana. There were other vegetables I didn't know and didn't want to know. They filled my stomach. Coconut came in a variety of dishes from water, milk and the shredded meat, all unsweetened. There was no coconut cake. I was dreaming about coconut when Salem broke my concentration, "You thinking about food again?"

"How did you know?"

"You were sighing. What was it this time, lasagna?"

"No coconut cake, sweet and gooey. My mother would make one once a year, for Easter. Not only would she use coconut, but also coconut milk and coconut cream in the frosting. She would sprinkle shredded coconut all over the cake and add jelly beans for decoration. One year she dyed the coconut green to resemble grass, but it was a turn-off. It looked like chopped spinach."

"I need to go to the mainland soon. Would you like something?" he asked.

I was hoping he'd ask me to go with him. "Sir, how do you get to the mainland?" I suspected a boat but was still playing the dumb woman.

"I have a boat." Nothing more.

Since he disappeared for several hours during the day, I wondered if he had another building he worked in. Now I realized he was either with the guards or on the boat.

"I don't believe I'm saying this, but I'd like some different fruits and vegetables. I know there is no food shortage, but a day of something different would be appreciated."

He nodded, "That is possible. Would you like anything else?"

"Books, maybe botany books about the plants here. I can't keep calling them the yellow tubes and red tubes."

"You like botany?" He seemed surprised.

"What else is there to see around here? I might as well know their proper names."

"I have several in the library, help yourself."

Yes, I thought, my brain would not turn to mush after all. But why were there botany books?

Salem said he'd be gone no more than three days. After breakfast, he gave me my blocker shot then left. I saw the large white yacht move out to sea. Was that Salem's boat? Why aren't we living on it? The answer was obvious. Each time he traveled, I might escape when in port.

This was the first time I was alone longer than the few hours a day he left the house. The sudden loneliness was overwhelming. What if he doesn't come back?

Where was Rick? Surely he'd be trying to move Heaven and Earth trying to find me but at what cost? He couldn't kill Salem else we four would fall into the Dark Hell and die unless found quickly. I prayed I'd not be found and I could continue to live, even in this isolated piece of Hell and help keep the three others alive. I mourned Jose again. I hoped his passing was quick and pain-free.

After breakfast and completion of my chores tending my three friends, I went upstairs to the library to look at the botany books. There were also books on chemistry! Thumbing through the books, I realized they were biochemical. I took the biochemical book down to the cooler lab and spent the next day and a half reading, trying to understand the material. On the third day of his absence, I stayed in the library as I wasn't sure when he was coming back. I made certain I always had a botany book open as I read the chemistry books. If Salem started up the stairs, I could put the chemistry books away while the botany book remained open. On the third day, I heard Salem coming.

"My dear, I'm pleased to see you are studying."

I hesitated before answering. Salem had been gone three days, usually the limit between shots. He was expecting me to feel ill. Actually, I felt energized but had to lie to him, "I've been trying to read this book, but my brain is fuzzy. I can't think straight. Sir, why are some plants phytotoxic to humans but not to the animals. It's amazing how one's poison is another's passion."

Suddenly his eyes got hard, "Phytotoxic?"

Uh oh, mouth fart. "It's a term in ran across in reading and looked it up." I hope that satisfied him.

"What do you mean?"

"Who tested a plant to determine if it was dangerous? Did they rub against it or try to eat it? Did people willingly try something knowing it might kill them? After all, birds can eat things that would kill us. It's not like they could watch the animals and know what was safe." There I think I talked my way out of that.

He relaxed, "Probably they tasted a small bit to start. Many of the poisons are extremely bitter."

I wanted to ask more but thought it best to keep my brain farts contained.

He took the book and closed it. "It is nearly time for dinner, but first you need your shot."

I hated this. Pulling the filled syringe from a pocket. "We haven't injected here for a couple of days, it shouldn't be sore."

All my life I have hated syringes and needles. Bobby would have to distract me with a lollipop before he could give me a birth control shot or flu vaccination. Here I was being injected every three days. I had bruises all over my body.

Dinner was a treat! We had beef in a spicy sauce with green leafy vegetables. If you had ever told me I'd go orgasmic over cooked greens, I would have called you crazy. I didn't worry about how long ago the beef had been cooked and if I was risking food poisoning. I was grateful to have something other than fish!

He found my moaning entertaining. "Have you always been so appreciative?"

"I was a constant disappointment to my mother. I learned by vocally expressing my appreciation and pleasure in her cooking I would gain some acceptance."

"Is she still alive?"

"No."

"Did she ever accept you as you are?"

"No. I was an outcast." I considered telling him more but remembered he was from the Middle East and his expectations for women probably closely mirrored my mother's: marriage and children.

For a moment his expression was one of compassion but quickly went back to blank. "I know what it is like to be an outcast."

-0-

After dinner, I felt encouraged by the beef in my stomach. "Sir, the next time you need to travel would you bring me shorter western clothes. The sarong's longer skirts are awkward to wear when tending the others."

At first, I feared he would reject my request. "Such attire is common in this part of the world. It keeps you modest."

"Sir, you tended my naked body for how long? You have seen everything."

I watched his face go from anger to acceptance. "I will allow modest short pants and a shirt but insist you wear a dress for dinner. It is only civilized," he explained.

I did not fall the floor laughing. Apparently, proper clothing was civilized but poisoning people and keeping them in a chemically-induced hell was acceptable.

I made an effort to form my terrible out of control hair into something less than a bird's nest. My captor has brought out a coconut oil jar and suggested it might help with the frizz. It helped but made my pillow cover a mess.

"My dear, have you considered cutting your hair short as you did the women? It would require less water to wash."

"There are no mirrors, how would I know what I'm cutting?"

"I could cut it for you."

I decided he could cut it; after all who was I trying to impress with my appearance? If shorter hair meant fewer tangles, less sweat, the end to insects crawling through my mane, so be it.

"I would appreciate a haircut. And if it's lousy, in a few weeks, you can try again."

Several days later after dinner, he had scissors and began cutting my hair. I realized as he took a lock of hair, this was the first time he had touched since the early days. His injecting me every few days required the barest touch. Snip. The first lock fell to the floor. I didn't have a mirror to watch the progress. Instead, I concentrated on my various hair disasters in my life.

My mother was in constant battle with my hair as she was used to Valerie's straight locks. With but a few brush strokes, Valerie's hair shone like fine silk. Mine was always wayward. Ponytails and pigtails were the only way to keep it contained. She took me to the Clip n Curl to have my hair chemically straightened. It dried my hair until it had the consistency of Lula's, without the fluorescent colors. I learned if I let my hair grow to my shoulders or lower and used conditioners and a straightener, I could have lovely hair. Unmarried Jersey-girls did not have short hair. Short hair or tightly contained hair came with marriage and age. Rick continues to love my unruly hair. My mind was back to my hair cut. I could feel his hand raking through my hair, massaging my scalp. I froze.

"I believe that is short enough for now. Maybe next time you'll want it shorter."

I felt my hair. It was maybe an inch on top and shorter in the back. I almost panicked but then I couldn't see it, so why get upset?

"You've done this before."

"No. I have observed from the barber chair."

"Why are there no mirrors here?"

"Mirrors incite vanity."

"You shaved before you go to the mainland and had your hair cut. Isn't that vanity?"

"I need to blend in as I travel throughout the world. By varying my appearance, I can remain anonymous."

"But not for me?"

"No, you are a woman. You remain as Allah made you, but I accept you have trouble with your hair. Since you are not leaving the island, your appearance to me is immaterial."

Long ago accepted the fact I'd probably not leave the island and would die here. He just confirmed it.

"Yet you insist I dress for dinner." I probably overstepped my boundary.

"You pick up an odor during the day tending the others. Your washing and changing for the evening meal is a balm to my appetite."

I swallowed another outburst.

-0-

One evening at the dinner table, I asked him, "Sir, may ask your name and nationality?" I already knew.

"Does it matter?"

"I'm just starting a conversation."

"You need to be studying more than botany books. The library upstairs has many of the world's great writers. Perhaps if you were to spend more time studying them, we could have meaningful conversations. Manoso did you a service, by his death. It forced you out of your pitiful life. You need to continue to expand."

"Sir, now my world is microscopic when compared to Trenton. Someday you will walk away, and I will die."

"We all die. It's what we do with our time that matters. Our actions become energy that transforms us."

"Does your transformation philosophy work in a vacuum?" I stood up and walked away. He just stared at me. I hoped I had not overstepped my boundary.

**-0-**

I no longer counted the days, they had no meaning. One day at breakfast, the man announced, "I am sorry, I must leave for another three-day trip. This is important." Once again I was given the blocker, and he left. I eagerly returned to the laboratory. While practicing the lock-picking Ranger taught me years ago, I found the man's research journals in a locked cabinet!

For two days I thumbed through the books reading passages trying to understand his work. I did not risk reading the journals on the third day as I was slow in relocking the cabinet and didn't want to be caught returning the journals. I'd need more practice to speed my snooping.

As with the first away trip, Salem brought home presents. The first was several pairs of shorts and simple blouses. The second was totally unexpected. Spaghetti. The change to wheat spaghetti from rice or cassava nearly brought tears to my eyes. The sauce wasn't Pino's, but it had Italian seasoning. At the end of the meal, he brought back a covered tray. Dessert? "I was rather harsh with you before I left. Please accept these gifts as my apology." The plate of pastries sparkled with sugar.

"Sir, thank you. This is an expected treat." I took a bite and moaned in delight. He found my noises amusing. But the moaning was an act. I was repelled by the sweetness. Have I lost my sweet tooth? Well, I was going to find it again. It took me only an hour to consume all the pastries, but then I was sick for days. I could not tend to my friends downstairs. If I wasn't in bed or vomiting in the toilet, I sat on the veranda and stared. My mind was utterly clouded, and my body ached. I never wanted anything sweet again, ever!

The man seemed quite curious about my reaction to the sweets. He asked endless questions, had me perform simple tasks while timing me drew blood and demanded urine samples. I felt weepy, but I long ago told myself I would not give him the satisfaction of my tears. Eventually, the symptoms went away. Thinking back over the illness I realized the sweets had the same effect on me as the drug when I first arrived on the island. Did high blood sugar cause the blocker to break down threatening to send me into eternal darkness? Rick never had these symptoms, but he didn't contaminate his body with sugar.


	10. Chapter 10 Rick on the Hunt

**Chapter 10 Rick on the Hunt**

Angela and Rick were back in Zamboanga City after having traveled to Borneo and the tiny sultanate of Brunei. Rick has been on operations in Indonesia years ago and reached out to former colleagues for help. None had heard of Salem Albadar or his other known aliases. All would watch for the _Nashib_.

As a woman, Angela could not travel alone into the ISIS-held areas in the south and southeastern Mindanao. Rick and Stefan Roxas, Angela's Philippine bureau head, covered those areas.

All three had been on the hunt for several months. They visited large and small ports, talking with fishermen and boat servicing businesses, and port authorities looking for the _Nashib_. They found nothing new.

Before Rick left on missions, he received briefings with intelligence gathered through various sources. The Rangeman search engines provided more. Since they had no government backing, they had to collect information themselves. When actively working as a Black Ops contractor, Ranger had the patience to work through the job. This time was different. Stephanie was now his wife and life. He knew he was extremely fortunate Angela had found him years before in Columbia before he succumbed to dehydration. Now it was his turn to find Stephanie before she was lost.

The only reliable information on Salem was he had sailed from Zamboanga City, southwest Mindanao's biggest port months ago soon after the kidnapping. Rumors abound the _Nashib _had been seen but there were not official harbor master logs. The large peninsula shaped like a giant male appendage sat well into the Sulu Sea. ZC was at the tip ideal for sailing to hundreds of islands and countries. From here a large boat, like the _Nashib_ could sail thousands of miles in any direction. If one had to disappear, the Philippines, Borneo, or Indonesia were ideal hiding places. They would need a _Nashib _sighting to determine where to concentrate their search.

An even bigger problem was trying to remain under the radar of various governments including the US. They did not want suspected traitors in Aunt Madge's office or elsewhere in the government to know where they were. They especially didn't want friends of Salem to catch whiff of their presence.

While Angela and Rick scoured the far Pacific for Salem, each Rangeman office had contributed one or two men to form a team to travel to Central and South American to look for leads to Salem's location. Frequently observed by the US, and other country's agencies, they were playing a game. The Rangemen let themselves be seen infrequently, but enough to hold the watchers' interests but not often enough to give their game plan away.

Meanwhile, Bobby was getting frustrated. He had determined parts of the drug were plant-based, but there were too many missing links. He had been spending more time in Houston's Tropical Disease Research Center going through research journals. After months of work, Bobby had a problem. His research's next step was either to a research center in Zambia in Africa or to Research Institute for Tropical Medicine (RITM) in the greater Manila, Philippines area. He dare not led his "watchers" to Manila where Rick and Angela were working.

After discussions with Tank and the heads of the other Rangeman offices, they concluded there just wasn't enough money to justify continue having a team bashing through the jungles in Central and South America and to send Bobby to Africa. The other three offices were actually miffed at the money spent to find Lester Santos.

Suddenly word came the government was willing to fund Bobby's travels to Africa. What agency was suddenly interested in Salem Albadar's research? Remembering Aunt Madge's admonition to destroy the work lest it fall into other agency hands, Bobby had a bad feeling again about Aunt Madge's office associates and who was talking with who.

Fortunately, or unfortunately, a Cholera outbreak was running rampant in parts of Zambia. Bobby had a legitimate excuse not to travel to Africa in the near future. In the meantime, Hector continued his research on Congress and intelligence agencies.

"_Madre mia_," Hector started in his briefing with Bobby and Tank. "The whole place should be paved over. That place is a warren of deceit, payoffs, and immoral behavior. The pedophilia ring makes my head ache. Imagine the worse and multiply it by ten or one hundred."

"Do I really want to know?" Tank asked.

"No. It disgusts me I know. Anyway, I have leads on the three idiots in Madge's office. The rumpled brown suit does work for a California Congressman. Her husband is making millions, if not billions on information she shares with him. She wants power, he wants skirts and power his wife doesn't know about. He has contacts all over the world and I believe selling information.

"Mr. Blue suit is pretty straight forward. He has cozy ties with an international pharmaceutical company. He came to work for Madge about the time Ranger returned to Colombia. I'm suspecting he's the one who indirectly tipped off Salem."

"Shit," was Tank's only replay.

Hector continued, "Mr. Grey suit, they all have names, but they are immaterial, Mr. Grey suit assumed he would get Aunt Madge's job when she took over the agency seven years ago. He had a heart attack just before the switch, and the higher powers thought him too delicate for the job. Grey suit stayed on acting as adviser or considering Washington as a whole, a _consigliere." _

"You are comparing government to the Mafia?" Bobby asked.

"Buying loyalties with lies and promises and padding their bank accounts, yeah. Except the mafia has a code of honor. Anyway, Mr. Grey Suit he did not get the big chair, his "work" is being sold to the highest bidder. He will retire in a few years and needs to secure lifestyle. The government retirement annuity won't be enough."

"OK, so Madge's bureau is infested, what about the CIA and all the other alphabet agencies?"

"Depends on the level," Hector replied. "The higher-ups are selling their souls to the highest bidder. The workers in the trenches are generally clean-ish."

"Clean-ish?" Bobby repeated.

"Mold grows in strange places," Hector shook his head.

Tank stood and walked around. "So who do we trust?"

"Angela. She and Ranger, er, Rick were always an unbeatable team and the most honest people I've ever known."

"He's been out of the saddle for a few years," Tank said with full knowledge Rick was now a cowboy.

"I think he'll easily remount."

**-0-**

Angela and Rick returned to ZC after several days on nearby Basilan Island looking for leads. The search had revealed the _Nashib_ had been to the island several times before and after the kidnapping.

"Just across the channel," Rick said disgusted.

"He had to anchor further out so avoid the shallows. It must have been important." Angela replied. "It's too difficult to resupply out there. He has to have another port. I'm still betting its here."

Angela's phone vibrated, a text was coming in. "We are going to lunch. We have a lead."

Entering a small café, the hostess took them a private alcove where they could eat. After placing drink orders, they moved to the food buffet to select raw meats and vegetables. Returning to their table, they carefully put the meat strips and vegetables on the propane-fueled burner. Red or green chili paste and various kinds of vinegars were set on the table to be used as condiments after cooking. He and Angela briefly conversed in Spanish, one of several languages spoken in the area. At one point, the hostess brought additional rice, red sauce, and passed a flash drive into Angela's hand before anyone else could see the action.

Returning to their hotel room, they cleared the room before Rick stepped out on the pretense of buying something. Stefan stepped out from a closet. "Angela," he said softly.

Angela pulled out her laptop and inserted the flash drive. Stefano bent over examining the photos. "Yes, that is the _Nashib_. We hear rumors he was moving this way. Who took the photos?"

"Farouk," Angela answered. "He owes us a few favors."

"The Malaysian is in ZC?" Stefan asked with surprise.

"He's chasing down missing medical supplies. The search includes the local university."

Stefano leaned in closer, "I count six crew members in the pictures. There may be more aboard we can't see."

Angela enlarged several photos. "Looks like provisions coming aboard especially fresh produce. What's that silver bucket?"

"Looks like a liquid nitrogen canister," Stefano said.

"So he has a lab wherever he is."

One picture showed Salem returning from the city carrying a bright pink bakery box.

Stefano chuckled, "Somebody having a party?"

"Or entertaining guests," Angela muttered.

"We have heard Salem was in Parang in Eastern Mindanao, but not recently. Did you learn anything about him in Basilan?"

"Not him, but the _Nashib_," Angela shook her head. "The closest we could come to a lead was some of the _Nashib _crew might be from there. We also were in Malaysia for a week, but the _Nashib_ has not been there since before the kidnapping.

"The yacht has a cruising range of several thousand nautical miles. He could easily be up north in Palawan, Mimmaropa, west to Brunei, or Malaysia, though the later would require refueling."

"If he's refueling he could be anywhere in Southeast Asia or even Australia. I keep coming back to here, ZC city. If he was moving into the South China Sea why didn't he sail from Manila or Palawan? What brought him here?"

"ISIS?" Stefan asked. "But Rick and I didn't catch a whiff of him there for the last two years."

"Where would he get most of his supplies?" Angela was trying to nail down where Salem was concentrated.

"With a range like that, he could do his grocery shopping just about anywhere. If he is hanging around here, there is a reason. Yes, groceries are obvious. Another is ZC has an airport with cargo flights. These photos show the supplies waiting on the dock. That nitrogen container can't be bought in the local market. Salem or the crew must radio ahead. Radio signals have their limits."

"More likely he has a computer and satellite online shopping. We need to watch to see if he comes in regularly. That would place him nearby."

"Near-by is relative with that long cruising range."

Angela ignored the last comment. "He left the ship. He must have quite a hold over the crew that they do not steal the yacht."

Stefan leaned back from the desk, "We suspect he is using hostages or blackmail. Or his second in command is very loyal and controls the others."

"Assuming he comes back, we need to follow him when he leaves," Angela said.

"I'll have a boat ready for you at the wharf." Stefano left and melted into the crowded streets filled with pedestrians. Rick had remained down at street level and watched him disappear into the crowds. No one followed, so Rick rejoined Angela in their room.

She looked up as her cousin entered, "We've got pictures. Can you imagine why Salem stopped at a bakery?"

Rick smiled. "Stephanie has a sweet tooth."

"Assuming he's not buying sweets for his crew, then maybe she and Sandra are still awake."

They knew Salem was gay, but surely not all his crew-members. Neither spoke their fears the two women were entertainment for the crew.

Rick was flipping through the pictures, "Did anyone follow him when he was ashore?"

"A Malaysian agent took the pictures. We had nobody there. There was no backup. There will be next time including a ship to follow."

"Whenever that is," Rick mumbled to himself.

"Keep greasing the palms along the dock. When the _Nashib_ is spotted, hopefully, they let us know. We might be able to get people further out as watchers."

**Stephanie **

Salem walked in as I was shaving Lester. The two men's beards had slowed their growth but, I feared they'd develop a rash if they weren't kept clean. Everyone had their teeth brushed though they were not eating food.

"You are taking care of them well. Why?"

"They are still human beings. They deserve their dignity even in this half-life you have them suspended in." Looking at the three, she asked Salem, "I don't understand. Why do you do this?"

"They are atoning for their sins."

"How would you know of their sins? Are you a confessor?"

"I've told you before, Santos and Turner were part of a team that tried to kill me. Maybe they were successful. I came back to life under the care of tribal medical men. During my death, I was tormented in darkness. I could not move, but my mind remained active. When my body healed and my sins forgiven, I was reborn."

That was Rick described his experience. He felt reborn, cleansed of his past sins.

"Are you going to release Turner and Santos after they atoned?"

"No. Like Manoso, they must die. It is a fitting punishment for killing me. These two men could live another 10 or more years, but care is expensive. My facilities are minimal. In the meantime, I am trying to find the solution to awaken them as the medicine men did for me. I could use it in future studies. Most likely, they will die of bad drug interactions or infections. Or I will tire of them and let them go to die of neglect as I did with Manoso. Allah will decide their fate and maybe a reward."

"What about Sandra? She never hurt you."

"I considered keeping both of you awake but decided two women would be more trouble. She will suffer the same fate as the others. Being a woman, she will die first. She is not strong like the men and usually woman do not have the emotional strength to last long. If she is truly sinless, her rewards will be great."

"Even for a non-believer?"

He did not answer.

"What about me? Why did you bring me here and keep me awake?"

"I was intrigued by you. When I put you to sleep while we traveled, you talked. Nobody has talked as much as you did. Initially I did not give you the final drug to put you down quickly. I'm trying to figure out why you are different from the others. You are the first one to remain awake with the blocker."

I was afraid to ask, "What did I talk about?"

"You loved Manoso but were hurt by him. At the cemetery, you told me he was only a friend. Yet, you deeply mourned his death. There was another fellow, Joe. You loved him as well but resented his hard ways and suspected infidelities. How hypocritical, you were lusting after both. You have survived the pain of their passing and now share your life with Enrique, Rick, and somebody named Bob. Do you always have more than one lover at a time? Does your husband knew….or actually, did he know?"

"Rick is a nickname for Enrique, the man you saw at Arlington and later killed. Bob is a dog! He belonged to Joe. When Joe died, he was given to me."

Salem started laughing, "A dog who eats pizza?"

"And furniture, he's not particular."

Salem walked away laughing. I was suddenly worried about my nocturnal tales. Would they reveal Rick and Ranger were the same, and Enrique was actually Jose? I had to double my effort to wash the name Ranger from my brain, quickly.

I turned back to finish tending my patients while I thought of what Salem said. If Lester and Sandra could still hear and understand, their will to live took a hit. I went up to each and reminded each quietly that Salem does not know people have survived his toxic brew. "You have to fight as the drug takes time to wear down." I had to stretch the truth a bit and indicate more than one person survived.

**-0-**

Rick became a well-known face on the docks. He took odd jobs and spent time in local longshoremen bars. A fisherman he had cultivated came up to him, "The _Nashib_, will enter the harbor within the hour." Rick paid the man and called Angela.

"Go to our boat and prepare to cast off. I will be there shortly. Stefan will follow him while he is on shore. We will try to follow the yacht when it leaves," Angela said.

"We could capture him."

"No, Rick, we can't capture him or injure him. The others die. We need to follow him back to his hideout to rescue the others."

Rick immediately realized he was wrong. He was letting his emotions get in the way again. Ranger-mode was years before. He had to get his head, not his heart, in the game.

Stefan and his team were at the docks. Once they spotted Salem, they began clandestine tails following Salem's movements. Salem appeared not to react to being followed. Instead he led his followers to several stops around the city before returning to the _Nashib_.

Ranger and Angela were at sea, but within sight of Zamboanga City harbor when the _Nashib_ sailed back out, six hours later. Angela talked to Stefan on the sat phone before apprising Rick. "According to Stefan, Salem made several visits around the city including the bank and post office. He also went to the university. His and his men took turns going to a bathhouse to bathe."

"Then this is his home base. Good call, Angela. Do we know who he's meeting at the university?"

"Not the individual, only the medical department."

"Bathhouse would indicate they don't have bathing facilities where they are," Rick spoke.

Angela answered, "At least that one explanation." She let Rick fill in the possible sexual rendezvous.

They knew they could not get close to the _Nashib_ but could follow for a short time to get a bearing on her destination before sailing away. They were not successful. In an attempt to shake any followers, the _Nashib _made several dramatic course changes. Angela and Rick had no choice but to sail away lest identified as followers. Others on the team on smaller fishing boats and Bangka's waited in the Sulu Sea to report seeing the _Nashib_. Spotters along the coast as well as several fishermen reported a white yacht far out, outside the shipping lanes. None could verify the Nashib, just a large white vessel. Ranger and Angela returned to Zamboanga City to replace their boat for another. The next time they spotted and followed Salem, they did not want to be recognized.

"How many islands lie beyond here?" Ranger asked.

"In this area, there are maybe up to one hundred ranging from a few thousand square feet to several square miles. Many are not habitable due to water issues or native inhabitants."

"Head hunters?" Rick asked.

"I don't believe there are any left. The unfriendliness I was referring to are reptiles; snakes and crocodiles; cobras and saltwater crocs. "

Ricky shuddered slightly. He had been in areas with both, but the crocodiles were worse.

When back in ZC, Anglea, Rick, and Stefan met. "Any chance of getting a tracking device on board next time," Angela asked.

Stefan hesitated, "They do an electronics sweep before they leave port. Added to the course changes at sea, they are cautious not to be followed."

"Can we get satellite tracking the next time he comes to port?" Ranger asked.

"Sure, I'll call up NSA and Aunt Madge," Angela chuckled. "Remember we are dark with regards to Aunt Madge."

"It's there another country we could use? Rick asked.

"Not for this mission. We'd need government clearance for anything regarding satellite time."

"How much fuel did they pick up?" Rick was calculating in his head the possible distance to the hideout based on the yacht's fuel consumption.

Stefano answered, "A full load plus propane. Either they are going over a thousand nautical miles out, or they are sailing to other ports."

Rick shook his head in dismay, "Damn. After all these months I was hoping we were zeroing in."

Angela spoke up, "If he's coming here to fuel up and traveling 500 to a thousand nautical miles, there are closer ports. I suspect he's in closer but planning a longer trip."

Rick though a minute, "Could he be using the fuel to run equipment at his location?"

"And using the Nashib as an oiler?" Angela laughed. "That is one very expensive oiler. But he might be getting deliveries."

"How many mobile marine service stations are there?"

"There are remote depots as well as regular delivery. The depots are used by locals with smaller boats and no deep harborage," Stefano answered. "Other islanders or coastal residents meet the oiler and transfer oil to barrels and transport them back to the area by their Bangka's to clear the reefs."

"A larger oiler would need a reef-free deep harbor. There can't be too many of those."

"Stefano, can you get people into the fuel depots?"

"Yeah, most have a bar or supply depot near them. We'll be talking to the natives out there."

Rick continued, "Could Salem have solar power?"

If he has significant electrical needs, it would be best to stay with fuel oil electrical generators. Many islanders have a panel or two for lights. If Salem has solar, he probably has a vast array."

Rick was back to thinking about satellite photos, "I need to talk to Hector. He might be able to sneak into other countries' satellite photos of the area for larger solar arrays."

Angela added, "While Hector is at it, he could be looking for piers or harbors. Hopefully, the island isn't so small it has been forgotten in aerial photography."

Three weeks later the _Nashib_ returned to Zamboanga City. Angela's team had no prior warning this time. The surveillance team quickly went into track and search mode.

As before, Stefano met Rick and Angela in their apartment. "Once again he went to Allied Medicine Department at the local college. They are not a full medical school. Mainly they teach paramedics; nurses, and technicians. We believe he met with instructors in anesthesiology and pharmacology. Both instructors are retired from a university in Columbia."

Angela shook her head, "This is a long way from Columbia. There are better places to retire."

Rick spoke up, "Perhaps they are old FARC buddies or ISIS."

"Salem went to the mosque to pray and to talk with a gentleman in the courtyard after the service."

"Do we know the man's name?"

"Yes, he's a local physician. He is the only one in ZC with neurological training. As before Salem and his crew took turns going to the bathhouse."

Angela leaned back thinking, "Then he doesn't have a large supply of fresh water. He is desalinating and probably using the fuel oil to run the equipment. We definitely need to look for a pier to fuel deliveries. So, the bathhouse may be for bathing and washing clothes."

"You nailed it. Several of our guys went in and reported exactly that." Stefano continued, "He was also seen entering a woman's clothing store. Is he a cross-dresser?"

"No, but it might indicate the women are still alive and maybe awake."


	11. Chapter 11 The Search Continues

**Chapter 11 Sulu Sea**

Several days later Hector sent a list of 127 known oil deliveries within a 1,000 nautical mile radius. Of the 127, fewer than 50 had deep enough water for oil deliveries. "Hector says if we can narrow down the area, he can do better."

Ranger looked at the maps, "These are in Chinese."

Angela laughed, "He hacked China? Well, they have been hacking the US for years. What worries me is why China has such detailed maps of this region."

"That's another day's concern," Rick said. "What about the solar collectors?"

"Inconclusive. Hector notes they aren't as easy to spot from satellite photos."

"There are over fifty possibilities here alone. How long will it take to search all?" Rick asked.

"These fifty locations are spread all over three seas. It could take us a month or more. These are only deep-water ports. We must not dismiss transport between an oiler and the island. "

"I can't see a guy with a yacht like the _Nashib_ using canoes and oil drums, and you dismissed the yacht as an oiler."

"But he might have a secondary craft, a shallow-draft barge, to transport from the delivery vessel to the island." Angela said.

"Then we are back to square one."

"When we began we were looking as far east as Panang. We have nearly eliminated his base being here on Mindanao. We also spent time in Malaysia, Brunei, and Indonesia. Now we are down to islands. We will find him."

"Could we use aircraft to check out these delivery docks?"

"This area is not on established flight paths. Planes are rare. If we even got close to Salem, we'd risk a rocket up our ass from his guards."

"Drones?"

"The size and cruising capacity we'd require are still governmental property. Madge would know, or more likely the spies in her office would warn Salem."

"Then we check out the deep ports one by one," Rick muttered.

"You work with Stefan and his men. I'm staying here in ZC in case he reappears. There is still the missing medical equipment for Farouk."

Rick, Stefan and several of his team began cruising the Sulawesi Sea to the south, the Bohol Sea to the north and the Sulu Sea to the west. Beyond Palawan lay the South China Sea. Everyone hoped the search would not get that far. Not until he began island hopping did Rick appreciate the vastness and questioned Angela's one month time table.

Each island visited required earning the trust of the inhabitants and beginning discussion on a large white yacht or fuel oil deliveries. Rick's mocha latte skin allowed him to blend it except for the beard. In a bold move, the beard disappeared. Immediately the old Ranger began to appear. He had maintained the hard body, but the mind had slipped. He attributed the change to Salem's drug, maybe he was hiding behind the beard.

**-0-**

**Stephanie POV**

"I'm leaving for a week," Salem announced at dinner.

I put down my fork, "I can't go that long without a blocker. Is this it, my time to die?"

He looked at me with a hint of compassion. Was he enjoying my company? I was careful not to give him much trouble. Remembering his comment about wasted minds, I had begun reading the books in the library. In return, we were discussing philosophy and history, nothing modern. "No. There is enough blocker to get you through. I will show you how to inject yourself."

"What about the others?"

"There is enough food for them, but you may have to cut back on the bathing to every other or third day due to water unless you trap enough rainwater. The desalination plant needs new parts."

I thought about food. "I don't fish."

He said without emotion, "There will be food for you."

"Thank you. Will the guards be leaving as well?"

"One will remain on patrol, but he will continue to have no contact with you. He has orders to shoot you if you travel much beyond the house. The guards believe you have a disease."

"You mean like leprosy? What have you told them?" I wondered why nobody came near the house. Great, I can die by firing squad, toxic reaction to his drugs, or abandonment.

"I've never said specifically."

"What have you said about the other three?"

"They have the same condition, but there's "hope."

Hope was a word I had all but forgotten. If Salem were late returning, would I slip into the coma too? If that happened, would he keep all of us alive? Was I the only reason Salem remained this long? If he left permanently, the other three would slip away, never regaining consciousness. However, my end would be frightful, as my mind would continue to work as I died of dehydration.

"I imagine your crew was not happy when you transported us here initially."

He chuckled, "I gave each a vaccination of saline solution and glucose."

I had been in the hospital often enough to know it was standard rehydration fluid but played innocent. "Would that protect them?"

"It was a placebo, I was vaccinating their minds making them think they were safe while we transported you here," he chuckled.

"I'm surprised they return with you each time you leave."

"I pay them very well plus discipline is strict. The guards are as much captive on this island as you. The third reason is I control their families. The sons here know if they disobey I will kill their families."

I gasped. "Would you?"

"Not me but my second in command, Abasi, would and has." He then added, "Also know the remaining guard has no means of outside communicate. You will not be able to call for rescue help."

I was confused, "Sir, what good would rescue do? Unless you have an antidote, leaving the island will condemn me to death." No way was I telling him Rick survived by given palliative care until the drug wore out. He seemed pleased with my response. I was always pretty good at playing the dumb woman.

"Is there anything you want me to bring back? I assume you do not want more sweets."

"No, your healthy diet has cured my sweet tooth and probably unclogged my arteries." I thought a moment. I had a library filled with botany, chemistry, medicine, philosophy, and fiction. "No, I can't think of anything I need or want aside from the personal products. You keep my hair in order. I would appreciate a journal to write my thoughts or write poetry. Thank you for asking." I needed paper to continue my research.

After we finished our meal, I said sincerely, "I will miss your company." I hated playing nice, but our four lives depended on me not upsetting out….host. Murderer or jailer might have been better termed. I dare not allow myself the luxury of imagining what Rick would do if he found us.

He looked up surprised but said not a word. Had he spent long periods in isolation?

Early the next morning I watched the white yacht pull away from the long pier. It took a different route as it left. Since I did not know where I was, the change in the heading was curious, nothing more.

The loneliness crashed down on me as it did each time he left the island. This time I knew the wait would be longer. "Rick," I wept. I wanted to voice more but knew that even thinking about him was dangerous. The emotional outburst caused my chest to constrict. Damn poison, I could die of a heart attack if I get too nervous or mad. Mad, damn yes I was insane! It was time to get busy!

I marched down the stairs into The Lounge. I hated that name, but the laboratory was worse. Standing at the foot of the beds I clearly told my three charges, "There is no way I am going to let you three die." Of course, by now they could not hear me.

Spreading the journals and notes out, I was again frustrated not having paper or journals to take notes. Where could I find the paper? The obvious choice was the library. Nearly every book had at least one blank page. With a kitchen knife, I carefully removed a page or two from each hardcover, cutting as close the binding as possible. The "guest room" had pencils and pens for keeping track of the guests' care in the journal. More pages, but they would be missed.

My usual method was to think, draw graphs, charts, columns. I dare not waste my precious paper. I wrote as small as I could, leaving out unnecessary words and creating my own shorthand of sorts. Hours passed until I realized we had missed our meals! I climbed the stairs into the kitchen. Limited fresh food was available. In a day or two, I would be back to eating out of a can. No wonder I was losing weight. Living on the ranch required a different body, strong and muscular. Now I was wasting away. Working out the in a makeshift gym, rolling the bodies downstairs and waking on the beach was not enough. My large Hungarian bones were more and more evident. Yeah, Ranger had become skinny in his confinement. His muscle mass came back. Mine never will unless we are rescued, I find an antidote or the drug wears down, and Salem does not drug us again.

After tending the others, feeding, hydrating, cleaning and moving their bodies to reduce muscle rigidity, I took the journals to the guest room and worked alongside my friends. They were not conscious, but their living presence was comforting. When the words made no sense, it was time to put Salem's journals away, gather my notes and head upstairs to the bedroom alcove. There was another bed next to Sandra where I could sleep. I knew it was probably my final death bed and would not visit it early. Tomorrow when there was natural light, providing more than shadow chasing from the weak lamps, I would find a hiding place for the notes.

The following day was injection day. I had to inject myself. It looked easy but thinking about what it was, why I had to do this, and the fact I hate injections out of principle, I made a mess of it. I ended up looking like a heroin addict with holes up my arm. I started laughing, the absurdity of all. I knew I would go through several hours of not feeling well so joined my friends in the next room, feeding them, wiping them down.

"I know what you are thinking Lester, whoo-hoo! Beautiful is rewashing my naked body. Yeah, what would your wife-to-be next to you think about this?" I kept talking knowing they were past hearing me. I did so to keep from going insane, or maybe I was already over the line. I noticed Lester's finely sculpted body was losing mass as was mine. "Don't worry Les, once you get out of here, you'll be back to your rock hard body in months just as R…before." I dare not say or even think the name Ranger or Rick. I could not make the mistake of bringing Rick back into my mind lest I have another mouth fart in front of Salem.

With the consecutive study hours, I began to see the man's drive and insanity. The experience at Ranger's hand and the coma changed his personal direction from a medical supply salesman and drove him back to research pharmacist. Medical supply salesman, was that a nice way of saying drug lord?

Returning to the notes, I noticed the mention of the native healers using native plants and animals for potions. What chemicals or native plants did they use? How were the plants potions prepared? How did the drugs get into Salem? Was he now using the same formulas on us? Hopefully, other journals would offer more insight.

Returning to the journals, I read how Salem woke and eventually felt reborn. The emotional impact was significant and he decided to use it on his enemies, giving them a chance to atone for their sins. Did Salem consider himself Allah's helper?

He tried to pay the medicine man that cured him for the formula. Instead, the man insisted Salem stay and study, which he did. In time he grew impatient and left before learning all, especially how to reverse the coma as the natives had done for him. He knew he would not want his victims to return to life, but to die after suffering the long mental torment.

But Salem changed his mind. Over time and with other test subjects, he devised a blocker to keep the poison from acting for short periods. So far, I was his most successful subject. He hoped I would lead him to the antidote.

My experience with the sweet pastries frightened him. Where I thought I was sick for a few days, in reality, I was ill for two weeks! I had lost consciousness. He was afraid I had entered the eternal sleep. If I fell, would he try to bring me back? Or would he abandon me? My three companions were not responding to his experiments, and he was growing tired of them. He indicated the only reason Turner, Lester, and Sandra were not dead was my excellent care I gave them. Either most subjects in the coma died within three months from infection or what Salem called "mental weakness."

I gasped in surprise when I read he was disappointed my somniloquy, sleep talking was reduced. Apparently, he was sitting near my bed at night to determine if I was talking! That was just creepy. He was trying to learn if the drug was also a "truth serum." He theorized my failing body, the weight loss and the lack of mental and physical stimulation was responsible increasingly quiet nights.

He was concerned about my weight loss. I was not bedridden like his previous subjects, and muscle mass was lost. I was moving around, lifting more massive objects but still losing weight. Apparently, my lean, mean diet of fish, cassava, rice, and fruits was not part of the problem. I laughed thinking that in addition to inducing comas and somniloquy, the drug might be a "miracle weight loss" drug.

My mental exercising of reading the books in the library was barely enough mental stimulation, in his opinion. Our nightly discussions had become more and more cerebral. Since I told him I was a business major, he considered teaching me chemistry but feared I would start my own investigation on how to find an antidote. Oh, Salem, if you only knew that was exactly what I was doing. An antidote! My mind warped back to previous pages where he mentioned a "possible cure." Now I needed to discover how far along his tests had gone.

As I continued reading, he wrote he found it ironic Enrique Delgado, my husband, died the same way as Carlos Manoso. No way Salem could know the Rick in question was Jose and that the Rick I called to in my sleep was the former Carlos Manoso and still alive. I was nauseous thinking about Jose and his death. If Salem were merciful as he claimed, he would have killed Jose quickly.

Salem was grateful he had not allowed me to see Enrique in death as it would have ended my talking in my sleep. Also Salem had failed to follow up on the discovery of the remains in a rental car from New Jersey when the container in Lagos, wherever that was. He had only limited web access on his yacht. My mind jumped to what I just read. He has communications on his ship? Of course, he does. He had a computer. Web access? Was that where he went when he left the house? Were there more medical journals on the yacht? The thought of encountering the armed guards with a shoot to kill order made me wary of journeying to the pier, wherever it was when the boat returned.

I was finding scientific names in his journals. I assumed they were formula ingredients. On day four of Salem's absence, I picked a particularly tricky cabinet lock and found bottles. Retrieving a botanical dictionary, I discovered one bottle labeled _Condrodentron tomentosum_ was curare. Before I started reading his botany books, I thought curare was a malaria drug. It has other uses. The second bottle did not surprise me, _Erythroxylum coca-cocaine_. Cocaine. Other labeled containers meant nothing.

I found numerous references to neurotoxins, paralytic toxins, such as South American rattlesnake venom and a spider from Brazil, but especially dendrotoxins. From the dictionary, I learned dendrotoxins are cobra venom. Was the reason he lived in this hellhole? I had the feeling he was afraid of them as I. He did say the guards were proficient cobra killers. Was that where the dendrotoxin came from? I shuddered.

Finally, I found mention of _Bothrops_, a central and South American snake, extremely deadly, was critical in making the poison. His infrequent trips to the mainland were to obtain more _Bothrops_ venom as well as other ingredients including pufferfish. The liquid nitrogen container was to store the very delicate toxins. What type of mad mixtures was he making?

By the eighth day, I knew my time to study had to cease. The weather had remained mild, there was a high possibility Salem would return shortly. I carefully stored the notes in the secret location and went back to the botany books in the lab and the books in the library. To counter all the reading, I spent an hour each day on the veranda staring out to see, relaxing my eyes. The strain and perhaps the poison was tiring. If I survived all this, I might need glasses.

On the ninth day, I injected the last of the blocker and waited. As usual, there was nausea, but now I really didn't want to eat canned sardines or fruit. Coconut water and tea became my diet. Day 10 came and went, he was late returning. By day fifteen, my energy level was low, and my body ached. I should be panicking, but I had long ago admitted to myself I was a lunatic's subject and was already dead. Real death seemed comforting.

On day sixteenth day tending the others was excruciating painful. When complete I literally crawled up to the library. Perhaps I could read. On the table lay the Spanish dictionary and "_El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha__" _by Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra. I was teaching myself to read and understand Spanish by reading _Don Quixote de La Mancha_. The Spanish was 17th century. My other choice was _Faust_, by Goethe in German. What a decision I had: Don Quixote's madness or Faust's damnation?

My head ached. My hands no longer responded to my brain, in fact, nothing responded. My eyes were getting dry. I was not blinking. With all my remaining strength, I willed my eyes to shut.

I was aware, the island's sounds blew through the window, blood pulsed through my head past my ear, my breathing was regular, but I could not increase it or slow it down. "This is it," I thought. I was beginning the dark journey to oblivion. Who would tend Lester, Sandra, and Turner? My brain cried, but physically I could not.

Day and night were only evident by the faint light that came through my eyelids. I could feel the breeze as it blew through the house. The pleasant_ Plumeria _fragrance was not on the air. Instead, I smelled the island's west side swamp where the crocodiles lived. I heard the rain. Usually, rain meant fresh water for drinking and bathing. Now it sat uncollected.

Dreams were common. I was standing in the pond at the Newark park, my skirt floated about me like a water lily. Everyone laughed when my mother spanked me for getting too close to the lake. I "felt" my mother's slap on my face for cutting my hair short. Valerie had done it. What would my mother say about my hair now? The large white piece of wedding cake was delicious until I saw my new husband, Dickie Orr, ogling the server. Morelli stood above me waving his arms yelling about something. I relived Scrog shooting Ranger, Abruzzi burning my arm, falling off the bridge into the Delaware River and Ranger diving in after me.

Rick told me nightmares were from the Devil. If so, I was possessed. What was Rick's solution to bad dreams? Prayer. He had been raised a Catholic Christian as I had but fell away when sinful pride took control in his adolescence. His work in the Army and after further propelled him down in despair and belief he needed to heal his soul. During his time under Salem's drug, he began praying and repenting. Though physically he couldn't cry, his mind cried for him. He was not sure he was fully repentant of his past life, but getting closer. My first prayers were for Rick, then the three downstairs. I hoped to get around to praying for myself before my brain tuned out.

To calm me, I began reviewing my research in my head. How close was I to unlocking the mystery of Salem's poison? I viewed my notes, threw out hypotheses, and wondered if I found an antidote, how would I manufacture it? Yes, time was an antidote, but maybe there was something faster.

My hearing seemed more acute. Salem never wrote about that in his journals. I heard all the island and oceans sounds I could not hear previously from the house. Initially, I counted the waves in a set. At one time, I loved the surf, but living here on the island and listening to the ocean, I grew to hate it. Now it was nothing more than a timepiece, marking my coming end.

I heard birds. There were not many to ar. Probably the crocs and snakes ate them. Or maybe the guards on the island needed to supplement their protein with something other than fish and reptile meat.

A sound startled me. I heard Salem coming up the stairs, "Oh my dear, I'm sorry I got delayed." I heard no more.


	12. Chapter 12 The End

**Chapter 12 The End**

A/N: This is NOT the end. There are several more chapters. I know this is a little rushed but I didn't want to leave you with the last chapter cliffie...so I've giving you a new one, _hehehehe._

* * *

Pain wracked my body, every single muscle screamed in protest with any movement, no matter how slight. Breathing was painful just has it had been when I first came to the island.

"Be still, the pain will pass." I knew the voice. "I'm sorry I was delayed in returning then it took time to make the blocker. I got to you just in time."

Did he have the materials to make the blocker here or did he need to purchase materials and hurry back? I did an inventory of items on hand while he was gone. I would need to check the stock, soon.

It took several days before the pain went away. The man seemed contrite but excited, "You went longer without the blocker, and you came back! Maybe we need to do more experiments." I glared at him but remained silent.

Apparently empowered by my experience without the blocker, he began waiting longer and longer between injections. As a result, I was in pain near continually. Each day he would ask a series of questions and have me do various exercises trying to determine how being without the blocker was affecting me. My tolerance to the drug was improving as I could go longer without the blocker. What did this mean? Was the blocker breaking down the drug? Was the blocker helping my body overcome the poison?

This, in turn, led him to begin looking for items in my own body fighting to overcome the poison. My mind flashed on something from the medical books, immunoglobulins.

Did my blood plasma have the glycoprotein cells that would bind to antigens; thus, in turn, lead to immunoglobulins? Wait, this was for viral or bacterial infections. I have been assuming all this is due to drugs, poisons. Maybe the underlying cause is something akin to encephalitis, and the toxins keep the virus from harming the brain. Why does it take so long for the body to start making the immunoglobulins? Could the blood from someone who survived hasten someone else's recovery? I was way out of my league now. I put my thoughts in my journal. I did not have degrees in medicine and microbiology; I was only a lab rat flailing for a way to live.

I hoped Salem concentrated on my blood and not Turner's. There was a chance exactly what Salem was looking for was building in Turner. Salem might discover the "cure" or antidote and then kill us all.

**-0-**

Rick and Stefan became more aggressive searching remote deep harbors and refueling depots. Much to their dismay, they found more unchartered . "Why aren't these in the satellite records?" Rick asked in frustration but knowing the answer.

"These are too small and too isolated. The islands were deemed little more than atolls to be recorded," Stefan answered but also sharing Rick's frustration.

"But even atolls and shoals are navigation hazard, they should be mapped," Rick replied.

"They would be if they were in regular shipping routes. These are dangerous waters. Few people live out here. Since nobody has spotted the white yacht, he might be hiding in this area."

Rick tried to remain upbeat, but he was frustrated. He had been in missions that lasted almost a year because of poor or no intelligence and constant roadblocks. This felt like another long mission. Did Stephanie have the time? Was she even still alive?

Stefan received a text and groaned. "The yacht was recorded in Bandar Seri Begawan three weeks ago. The port master remembered the yacht's master complaining about the delay in getting equipment."

Rick wanted to yell. Why had it taken three weeks to get the news to them? "Brunei?" Rick spat. Brunei was a tiny nation on the island of Borneo far to the west. "Could he be on Borneo, Malaysia instead of the Philippines? l that adds several thousand square miles to our search."

"You and Angela were over there months ago and not no leads. This might have been a single trip. The proximity to ZC still makes sense with the times he's been spotted here."

"Do we know how he makes his money," Rick asked.

"From Angela's research, it appears Salem makes his money as a facilitator. He brings people together whether they are negotiating arms deals, influence, but especially medical supplies."

"Medical supplies? Wasn't the agent that originally spotted the _Nashib_ in ZC looking into medical supplies or equipment?"

"Yes. Salem's father was a doctor and expected his son to follow him. When Salem went to college, he was more interested in microbiology, anesthesiology, and pharmacology instead of following his father in internal medicine and surgery. He started out in research but branched out on his own. Thanks to Farouk's investigation, we know Salem is far more than a drug lord. He is involved in native medicines and has become a major trader. He has made a fortune dealing in black bear bile, tiger bones, deer must, rhino horn, even seahorses. In addition to chemicals, herbals, and animal products, he also brokers deals in the stolen lab and hospital equipment. Many hijacked medical equipment and pharmaceutical shipments are thought to be part of his activities."

"So why is he hiding down here?"

"He prefers solitude. He was very active in the gay community in the Middle East. When the mullahs killed Salem's companion, he became extremely depressed and angry. He fled the Middle East preferring his privacy now. As far as intel can gather, he has not lived in a city of any sort since the incident in Iran."

"If he's a facilitator and a loner, how does he communicate?"

"I suspect communication off his yacht bouncing the world on satellites. They are nearly impossible to trace."

"I wonder if Hector could follow them?"

"Angela has been on contact with Hector. He hasn't been able to filter out Salem's signals."

"Could he be living on his yacht? Maybe the island search is useless?"

"There's no room for four hostages, laboratory, crew and maybe additional security. It is a spacious yacht, but not big enough. He must have a land-based operation."

"You think he has a lab?"

"Remember the crew member carrying the liquid nitrogen container? I doubt he is making ice cream. He's Middle Eastern and probably lactose intolerant."

"Could he have a larger ship for his lab and moves around to avoid detection using the yacht for grocery runs?"

Stefan looked sick. "Let's hope not."

Stefan, Rick, and several agents circled one island that in theory could have a deep harbor. The sea charts indicated it was possible. They came ashore and found several old fishing huts. "Someone has lived here, just not recently," Rick commented.

As they returned to the ship, a crew member handed Stefan a sheet of paper. "We need to return to ZC."

Bad news?

Could be. Weather satellites are showing a deepening low to the east of New Guinea.

Rick lived in Miami for four years, he recognized Stefan's concern for weather and seas. He nodded, "How long?"

"Off the cuff five or six days, but it's the intensity of the low that bothers me. This could be a bad storm. We do not want to be the sea or an isolated island."

Like Stephanie Rick wanted to say but knew Stefan was thinking the same.

After hot baths, good food, and sleep, Rick sat with Angela discussing the "progress."

Angela's phone vibrated. She read the message. "Stefan is on his way." Soon there was a knock on the door. Stefan stepped in, "I bring good and bad news."

Angela nodded, "Start with the bad news."

"Cyclone warnings have been issued. Early indications a force four cyclone will hit this area."

"How long do we have?"

"Four days."

"And the good news?" Angela asked with an eyebrow raised.

"The _Nashib_ has been spotted moving north-east in the Sulu Sea. He's about ten hours out."

"He's finding safe harbor for his yacht," Rick said.

"And abandoning his work," Angela hissed. "A category four cyclone will decimate low-level islands and cause serious damage to the larger ones. He may be leaving the Philippines."

"You think he'll bring his occupants?"

"No."

"So he's abandoning them," Rick said with gritted teeth.

"He left you. It was only a matter of time. He cannot pack up four patients and whatever medical equipment he needs to keep them alive. If he is leaving, he will not be bringing anything with him. I suspect he's terminating his contract with his crew, bringing them home, and abandoning the boat."

Rick and Angela knew their rescue window was about to be slammed shut. What was his last known bearing?"

"Bearing north-east, not running north."

Angela concurred, "He would be a fool to risk going further north in case the cyclone changes direction. This is the only area with a sizeable airport."

**Stephanie**

"My dear," Salem began at dinner, "It is time to replenish our fresh food stocks. Also, something has come up and needs my immediate attention. I'm going to have to leave you again."

I put on a sad face but was actually excited. I was close to understanding the formula and procedure for the poison and blocker, but I needed time to recheck my figures.

He looked like he wanted to say more but shook his head. He sipped his tea for a moment, "The water filtration system is working properly, the batteries are fully charged. There is food, though we very low on fresh fruit. There are enough provisions for our guests as well."

"We'll be fine, just hurry back. It's the loneliness that is so difficult."

When I woke the next morning, he was not waiting at breakfast. I went to the kitchen and found the pineapple and cassava. After washing my dish, cup, and spoon, it was time to feed my friends downstairs. Supplies were plentiful as promised. After finishing, I went to the lab to continue my studies. When I turned on the lantern, I froze. All the journals were missing. The lab equipment was still in place, but the cabinets were open and missing supplies. The small refrigerator held only one dose of the blocker.

Racing as fasts I dared I entered his bedroom and stared at the open closet. He never had many clothes, now all were gone. The library was missing books. On the end table was a note, "A devastating Force Four cyclone is heading this way. All my men and I are leaving. There is no room for you and your friends."

The note was emotionless. The man who had "killed" Ranger Manoso, abandoning him in the jungle was doing it again. Why was I surprised? Salem had alluded to this treachery months ago. Now three, no four other victims of his experiments are being forgotten. Bells clanged in my head, lights flashed, and I fell to my knees in disbelief.

When my mind cleared, my brain kicked into gear. Chances were with a category-four cyclone, everything on the island was doomed. The house was wood upstairs and quickly destroyed, the water plant mechanics would flood, and the solar panels would be blown away. The only substantial item on the island was the lower level with cinderblock walls. In theory, if the floor above remained, we might survive. But without fresh water, we would soon die of dehydration. Having a blocker seemed futile. If the man had any soul, he would have killed us in our sleep.

The old Stephanie Plum would have wailed risking heart failure from the poison inside, but Stephanie Delgado had long ago left the Jersey-girl behind. This one retained the stubborn bounty hunter and wove it into the survivor, the ranch woman. By damn, I would fight to my last waking moment to save Turner, Lester, Sandra, and myself.

What did I need to do? First, I would need food and water after the storm. The kitchen hand canned fish and fruit. I must not forget a can opener. I also grabbed several knives think something might present itself as food. A gagged at the thought of eating cobra. I would need a rifle to fight off the snakes and crocodiles. Did Salem take the gun with him? Sadly, it was missing.

I scoured the house for water-holding containers and began filling them. It was slow. The desalination plant could make no more than two gallons per hour. It took numerous trips up and down the steps securing other items; clothing to dress the others, blankets, sheets, plastic, and more kerosene for the lanterns.

What about the guards' barracks? Were there more supplies there? I thought about what more I needed and if I should risk venturing out among the snakes and crocodiles. Where were the guards' barracks? Did it even exist? This was not the time to go exploring.

I went through the lab's cabinets carefully, noting anything missing. I checked the liquid nitrogen canister. I wrote observations and thoughts until my eyes and hand began to ache. The next day I continued my routine. All of us were fed and hydrated. I spent time on the veranda watching for boats, the approaching storm, and writing in my journal.

Calmly I wrote down what I needed to do to help our survival. If we died, someday someone might come to this God-forsaken island. I had to leave an indication we had been here. I wrote a very emotional letter indicating whoever finds this should know what happened. I did not spare names: Salem Albadar also known as Silvio Alberra and Jules Armand.

Detailing his experiments, I explained he needed to be stopped and everything destroyed. I saw no good coming from his work but only continued misery and death for all he experimented up.

I also wrote to Rick. Tears rolled down my face making it difficult to breathe, damn poison and emotions.

_My dearest husband Enrique, Rick,  
_

_A Force Four cyclone is heading towards this God-forsaken island. Salem Albadar has abandoned us, left us to die. Turner Stevens, Lester Santos, and Sandra Silas are here with me. You know the reason why Lester and Turner are here. Sandra was taken because she was with Lester the evening we were kidnapped. I was chosen because I was your girlfriend.  
_

_The others have been under the drug from the very beginning of our nightmare. I was kept awake with an experimental blocker that needed to be given every three days, or I too would succumb. Salem hoped the blocker would be the precursor to an antidote. I have one blocker application left, but I'm not going to use it. I see no reason. Perhaps it will remain viable and can be analyzed as I fear Salem will continue his research elsewhere._

_I have been secretly going through Salem's research journals and supplies trying to figure out the drug(s) and the blocker. I don't have answers to the formula and blocker, only conjectures. All my notes are in this journal. _

_I know you have been working hard to find me, wherever I am. I assume by the flora and the reptiles here, I'm in Asia. I don't know how long I've been here, but every day I missed you and prayed you were getting closer._

_I am heartbroken Jose died in this fiasco. I have never known such a kind and considerate man, which is saying a lot when I think of the many in Trenton. I pray his passing was quick and painless._

_Rick, my love, you took me out of my pathetic life, showed me how to stand up and live. Our experience together, even from the first day in the café in Trenton has been fantastic. We have not had enough time together since we married, but know each day was filled with more love most couple experience in a lifetime. You are my savior, my light, my world. I love you with all my heart and soul. _

_If there is a future life, I pray we will be together again, for eternity.  
_

_Yours forever, you loving wife and best friend, Stephanie Plum Delgado-Babe_

I addressed the letter to four people: Pierre Sherman and Bobby Brown at Rangeman Security in Trenton and Angela and Nick Butler at Butler Security in Albuquerque, New Mexico. If ever found, the letter would find its way to one of them and forwarded it to love, acceptance Rick.

Keeping the precious letters and notes from water damage would require a waterproof container. The kitchen! I stopped by my bedroom and grabbed the rest of my sarongs. I didn't need the clothes but needed absorptive material inside the container to collect condensation since there wasn't a stash of silica to absorb the moisture.

I wrapped the papers in a sarong including the single blocker syringe and a note explaining it is what kept me awake all these months but was not an antidote. Once they read the journals they will discover there is no antidote, Salem was still experimenting. The only known cure was time.

Adding more cloth to the container, I placed the lid on and used a rope to secure it further.

I fed and hydrated all my charges. I dressed them in the few clothes Salem left behind and my sarongs for warmth. I wasn't sure how getting wet in the rain could affect our bodies. If we enter Heaven wearing the clothes we died or were buried in, Lester was going to be very upset to be in a sarong. I actually laughed thinking about that. It was the first time I had laughed in months.

Several times a day I went to the verandas watching for the approaching storm. Maybe it would not come! No, I saw the threatening storm clouds. Salem would not come back. Our time was at hand. My body was getting achy, I knew what was happening. I almost laughed, of all narrow escapes I've had over my life; exploding cars, dropped off a bridge, being shot, stabbed, even burned, dying in a hurricane in the tropics was totally anticlimactic.

It was time to go down into the lower level, in the guest room. I fed and watered each person as usual, but as the storm drew nearer, I fed more liquids. I removed the catheters and diapers from everyone. What's a little urine and excrement for the few days we'd be alive? I also ate and drank as much as I could. I didn't know how long it took to die of dehydration, but I was giving all of us as much opportunity to survive. Each guest was wrapped in a sheet and plastic for waterproofing. Then I carefully secured them to their beds, which hopefully wouldn't blow over. My movements were becoming difficult. The brain and muscles were slow. I tied the plastic container with my notes and the blocker to my body. I might be a pile of bones if discovered, but the plastic should survive for decades. Crawling onto the fourth bed, probably my eternal resting spot, I covered and secured myself as I had the others and began to weep. There was a powerful possibility none of us would survive.


	13. Chapter 13 Ranger's Revenge

**Chapter 13 Ranger's Revenge**

The cyclone was born east of New Guinea in the Coral Sea. Traveling northwest into the Sulawesi Sea, it grew into a monster storm. Eventually, it would pass between Indonesia and the southern Philippines into the Sulu and South China Seas. The next largest land mass would be Viet Nam. Central and southern Philippines would feel the storm with Zamboanga City, Basilan, and the islands to the southwest encountering the tempest's furry.

Angela scrolled through the regions satellite photos, though she had been through them often in the last months. "Salem's ship could come to port at Zamboanga City or south at Basilan Island. There are no other ports in this region."

Stefan, Angela's right-hand man and agent in the Philippines was looking at his own laptop, "The _Nashib_ has better mooring here in ZC. It would flounder or be severely damaged in a sea anchorage at Basilan.

"We discussed going north? Have we covered Manila in case he tries to run for it?" Rick asked.

Stefan shook his head no, "His ship would easily make it to Manila, but he got a late start. He is not taking a chance in the open seas if the storm changes direction. Chances are he has secured a flight from here. I have agents at the airport here as well as the docks. If we miss him, I have two teams in the Manila airport."

"Could he fly elsewhere?" Rick asked.

"Not from here. Manila is the hub for the rest of the area."

"Orders?" Rick asked. He was not in charge, his cousin was.

"Capture and hold, at least keep him alive until we learn where the island is located. We might have better luck if we can get to the _Nashib's _navigation system before it is erased."

"What about the work, the laboratory, and the product?" Stefan asked. Finding the captive was an understood priority.

"Aunt Madge wants it destroyed. All traces are to be destroyed along with Salem."

"But the drugs might help us save Steph..." Rick began.

"It would only help if she, Turner, Lester, and Sandra are still alive. Even then, we would have to keep them alive until we got to medical facilities. This storm will severely impact the already limited sites."

Rick remained silent. Angela told him he was alone for an estimated 30 hours before she and a medical team arrived and quickly transported him to the States. Here Angela and the team had to capture the _Nashib_ or Salem, survive the cyclone and then get to wherever the four were, assuming everyone survived. Then transportation would have to be found to get the four back to the mainland. Angela estimated it could take four days minimum, but closer to a week.

Stefan's men were already watching the Baliswan dock area of ZC for the _Nashib_. Activity around the docks was intense. Cargo was offloaded at breakneck speed, the ships secured. Out in the channel a big white yacht, the _Nashib_ was angling towards the docks. Before it got near, a smaller boat, the _Jasmin_, came alongside. A man matching Salem transferred to the smaller _Jasmin_ carrying a large suitcase, and smaller briefcase.

Ramon, a former US Navy SEAL, phoned Angela, "He's heading to shore before the ship reaches the pier. Malakas and I will tail him when he reaches land."

Angela turned to Rick, "He's leaving the _Nashib_ now. I suspect he is running to the airport. There is a flight in three hours. Take Rizal and Daklia with you. Malakas and Ramon will shadow Salem until you can intercept."

Airport Road was the only road to the airport. The two-lane street was often crowded, but today people clogged the roadway. They were desperately trying to get to the airport. Tourists, the wealthy and foreign businesspersons wanted out before the storm arrived. Every imaginable vehicle type jammed the two-lane Airport Road. Nobody was moving. People in their desperation abandoned their vehicles to walk to the terminal. Salem Albadar was one who chose to walk. He paid the driver, took his suitcase and briefcase and began walking with the crowd.

The human crush jostled Salem left and right as people crowded the road dodging cars, as there were no sidewalks. His large suitcase fell to the ground, but he did not attempt to pick it up. The need to reach the airport was greater than clothes.

Suddenly feeling large hands grabbed Salem's arm. "Come this way, it is faster." In theory, the side road, past the warehouse to the airport parking lot was shorter. What Salem did not know was there was a large chain link fence separating the airport parking lot from the side street. Realizing he was trapped, he turned around but was dragged into a sturdy block building. Security gates on the side road closed preventing others from seeking shelter during the storm.

"What is the meaning of this?" Salem demanded. "I have a ticket for a flight to Manila leaving shortly. I must be on that plane."

Ramon, Milakas, Rizal, and Daklia were above average size for Philippine men, near six feet tall. Salem was barely 5'9. The four former military men did not speak but stood guard with their arms crossed over their massive chests letting Salem know he was not leaving the building.

"Do you want money? Do you want my airline ticket?" Salem asked in confusion. The big men stood silent, not moving.

"No, I don't want your ticket or money, I want information," said another man who stepped out from behind a crate stack.

Salem did not recognize him. He had mocha colored skin, long hair in need of a cut and a four-day-old beard. Aside from the scruffy beard, he could be a Philippine.

"What information?" Salem shot back in the act of bravado.

"Oh, Salem, Silvio, or is it, Jules? What name are you using here? There is so much we want to know, but right now the location of your island would be a good start."

"What island?" the Iranian stood tall.

"You don't live on the _Nashib_. It is too small for you, your men, your lab, and your test subjects. We want to find your tropical paradise before it is blown away and all evidence of your evil laboratory and studies are destroyed."

Salem had no idea how this stranger knew about the island and the laboratory. He and his crew were meticulous about avoiding being followed. They also checked their boat carefully after every visit to all ports.

Salem set his briefcase down. "I don't know what you are talking about. I am a salesperson. I live Manila and am desperately trying to get home to my wife and family."

"Try again Salem Mohammed Albadar of Nashib, Iran, son of Mirza Mohammed Albadar, very well respected doctor."

Who are you?" Salem asked again. The man indeed did not recognize Carlos Manoso.

"Oh Salem, excuse me, Silvio. Have you forgotten me? We spent so much time together in Miraflores. I was disappointed you had to leave so suddenly. I thought we had become such close friends."

Salem looked at Rick again "You were in Columbia with FARC?" Salem thought the man could be Columbian.

Rick shook his head no. "_Senor Doctor _you didn't say goodbye, but then I was asleep, deeply asleep when you left. The villagers left soon after you. You had paid them to care for me, but they knew you were not coming back. They fled from the S_ueño de Muerte_ or D_ormir en el Fierno _as they called your experiments."

Salem's eye opened a bit more. He was confused. The only living person left behind was the American mercenary. Everyone else had died. Was this a ghost coming to exact revenge? "Who are you?" Did the natives find Manoso and bring him back to life the way they had brought him back?

"Silvio or Salem, you had many names for me none of which were complimentary. I agree with one, _El Perezoso._ Yes, I was lazy. I should have climbed down that cliff after we shot you and cut off your fucking head. Your FARC friends killed my second team except for me. You had a wonderful time torturing me before you left. Then you started hunting down the original team. You got some, but you did not know the most important person was still alive, me."

Salem smirked, "Carlos Manoso. I'm happy to see you alive so I can kill you over and over again. You were such a good test subject. Yes, I have killed two of your team and have enjoyed the company of Stevens and Santos, the last two. Plus I took your girlfriend and a woman friend of Santos. You'll never find them in time."

"Then they will be four more murders you'll have to square with the angel Azrael for your soul. Since they were not your enemies but rather your victims, I'd say you are destined for Jahannam."

"Allah will be merciful. He will not send a true believer to hell."

Rick started laughing, "Allah will be merciful on THEIR souls, not yours. You live your life contrary to the teachings of the Prophet except when you are with your Muslim friends. While your men bathed and washed their clothes in the bathhouse, you had your homosexual actions with the young boys at the university after consulting with your colleagues. Was that your idea of tutoring? What do you think your ISIS, Hamas, and Taliban friends would think of your actions? Oh, I know, you become the pious one attending prayer calls at the mosque, probably asking for forgiveness. The Koran has many passages about pretenders."

"How dare an infidel lecture me about Allah, may his name be blessed."

"_Manafiq!"_ (hypocrite) You are not worthy to even speak his name!" Rick yelled. After a few relaxing breaths, Rick continued, "I'm sure you have many questions. For example, why is Carlos Manoso still alive?"

Salem's expression was precisely that. Manoso should have died within days of his leaving Miraflores.

Rick smiled a smile that would impress the Devil. "Your little cocktail wore down. Think about it. You received the drug when you fell off the cliff. You woke back up healed. Do you know how long you were unconscious? Was it a week, a month, seven months? Maybe the Indians fed you double espresso shot of 100% proof Columbian coffee to bring you back. All the doctors had to do for me was to wait. Salem, if you want to kill, you must be more aggressive."

With lightning speed, Rick drew a knife and slashed Salem's abdomen. The cut was just deep enough to open the skin, muscle, andperitoneum allowing a portion of Salem's intestines to escape his body. While there was blood loss, no major arteries or veins were cut.

Salem cried out from the pain and seeing his intestines slip out. He grabbed his abdomen in terror.

"Oh, I forgot. You are a scientist, not a murderer. All your victims were nothing more than test subjects except for my team and me. We were revenge."

"I wanted you to suffer like I suffered."

"What about your other test subjects? Did they willingly subject themselves to her ministrations? Let's not forget all the people who died because they could not get the medical supplies you stole? You don't specialize; you steal everything from MRI machines to antibiotics and syringes."

"Business."

"Is it the same business that slaughters endangered species for folk cures that don't work and have never worked except in people's imagination?"

"I'm filling a market," he hissed in pain.

The wind was beginning to howl. "Sounds like the winds are picking up. We should stay here and wait out the storm. You are not going to die soon. It may take 14 hours. In the meantime, you can tell me all about your island while I pull more intestines from your body and cut them into small pieces."

Salem started crawling across the floor towards the door cradling his guts in his hand.

"Nope, we haven't had our conversation yet, Salem," Rick said as he took several cable ties and secured Salem's hands to a metal pole and his feet together. Salem watched his intestines spill out onto his lap.

**-0-**

The watchers kept track of the _Nashib_. As expected, it found docking near the ferry terminal. The multimillion-dollar yacht was carefully anchored and secured. With such a fierce storm and limited harborage, complete safety was impossible.

Angela and her crew noted several men left the _Nashib_ carrying duffle bags. They may have been heading home or to shelter within the city. The remaining number on board was unknown. Fearing the GPS records would be destroyed, Angela wanted to move onto the yacht and soon.

For a brief moment, Angela considered the yacht might be scuttled at anchorage. The storm would be the blame. Sinking this beautiful ship would be a waste. The estimated resale would be at least $15 million.

She called her bureau chief, "Stefan, we are going aboard. It the Nashib leaves port, we failed, and they are either running or getting ready to scuttle her. Take her before she leaves the harbor. Find the island. Destroy all of the bastard's work. Bring home the victims if you find them."

Angela and her four military trained commandos including two former US Navy SEALS and two Philippine Special Forces quietly came up the gang blank. Nobody was guarding the wharf or ship. Access to the _Nashib's_ bridge was through several halls and three sets of stairs. This entry was the type of commando training. Two men moved down to the lower levels to look for booby traps or explosives. They found a crewmember in the engine room closing valves not opening them. The boat was not being prepared to scuttle. Another crewmember was in the galley securing the cabinets. Both were captured without a sound. Angela and her two men carefully entered the bridge where they found two men huddled over the electronic display panel. One heard an unfamiliar sound and turned with a handgun. He never fired nor did the other. Both were killed quickly. Angela rushed to the navigation console. After several minutes, a smile spread across her face. Between Stefan and Rick's search, Hector's notes, and her own research, they had narrowed the island down to one area of fifteen islands and that was precisely where Salem's island was located. The island was quite small and listed among the uninhabited. It had not been satellite photographed but was found on older records, some dating back to World War II. "Bingo," she muttered.

"Stefan," Angela called the station chief. "We have the ship and information. We need disposals when you get a chance."

The winds were already 50 knots when the "recently acquired" Jasmin pulled next to the _Nashib_ at the pier. Two bodies stuffed into cargo sacks joined the deceased Jasmin's crew. Burial for all would be at sea, later. The remaining two living crew members would be returned to shore where they could rejoin their families on Basilian Island to the south.

In a final computer burst to Hector, Angela had the registration of the _Nashib_ changed to one of her blind corporations around the world. She would sell the yacht to pay for this expedition. The Jasmin would be "lost" in the storm along with its human cargo.

By now, all electricity through Zamboanga City was out. Rick walked over to a desk with a kerosene lantern for light. "Let's see what's in your briefcase Salem." Rick unsnapped it. It was an older leather case. "Sloppy Salem, not only is this easy to unlock, it isn't waterproof. Your notes might have gotten wet." Inside Rick found a laptop and stacks of journals.

"Everything is password coded," Salem hissed at Manoso's audacity.

"That just slows us down, no big deal. Ah, but these journals..."

"That's my life's work!"

Rick flipped through them, "They are missing their title: Poisons and other Tortures."

"Everyone must pay," Salem said as he moaned from the pain of the knife wounds and quickly developing peritonitis from the perforated bowel.

The wind sound suddenly increased as Angela and one of her SEALs came in.

Ranger/Rick looked back at Salem, "Everyone must pay? What, pay in money?"

"Some."

"Or do you mean pay penitence or revenge?"

Salem straightened up, "You killed me! You sent me to Jahannam, but Allah was merciful and sent me back. I sent you there."

"Allah was indeed merciful to me as well and sent me back without the natives' help. Maybe Allah, may his name be blessed, sent me back to avenge the deaths of all you have killed."

"No, I sent him souls of those who have done evil. May you return to Jahannam and burn for eternity!"

"Save me a seat," Rick shot back.

Rick began flipping through the journals. For all the languages Salem spoke, he wrote in English. "Sloppy Salem, English? I can sit here and read your notes looking for cures."

"There are no cures, yet," Salem moaned.

Walking back to Salem Rick said, "Yet here I stand, in front of you."

Angela smiled. "Since we know the poison eventually wears down, all we have to do is keep them alive and wait. Let's see, Turner has been missing about 8 months, yep, he should be transiting out soon."

Salem seemed surprised. Was that the answer? Just wait out the poison? "But you'll be too late. They will drown in the storm or die of dehydration. Perhaps the island crocodiles will consume them." Salem actually shuddered. He was going into shock. His voice was fading, "Do you know your girlfriend married someone named Enrique Delgado?"

Ranger smiled, "Of course I do. That's my name now since you took my old one."

"No, she was there with another man," Salem said, confused.

"Yep, a man my height, skin tone, eye color, and beard. That was my doppelgänger named Jose Castillo. He uses my name from time to time. Very handy to keep vermin like you confused."

"He's dead. He died an agonizing death locked in a car inside a container bound for Lagos."

"No, Salem. He was rescued before the doors were sealed. Nice try though."

"How?" Salem whispered. He was fading fast.

"Your men left Stephanie's purse in the car. It had a tracker. There were also trackers in Stephanie's and Lester's shoes. We knew you flew to Manila but weren't sure where you took them after as you discarded their shoes."

Salem sneered, "She was a very nice and compliant companion, Manoso."

"Cut the crap Salem, we know about your lifestyle. You escaped punishment by being killed by loving mullahs, but your companion died. You have no sexual interest in women."

Salem sagged, "No actually she was a lady at all times."

Rick piled the journals on the floor, poured kerosene on them and set them afire.

"What are you doing?!" Salem hissed from the pain. His shouting ability was long gone.

"I am ridding the world of your brand of evil."

Salem moaned. "I discovered so much."

"We have enough ways to torture and kill. We don't need your work."

Salem watched and wept as his beloved journals burned to ash. "You'll never find her. She and the others will die."

Angela walked in front of Salem and squatted down. The smell from his disembowelment was staggering, but she managed a straight lip smile. It was an evil smile that even Ranger respected. "Coordinates 10 degrees 48 North, 122 degrees 39 East. The Nashib's navigation system had the coordinates."

Salem gasped and hung his head. "You won't be in time."

"Maybe not, but know you will be returning piece by piece to the Sulu Sea along with two members of the Nashib's crew and all the Jasmin crew."

Then walking closer to Salem Ranger said, "I don't have your poison to start you on your way, but I can simulate the excursion. Maybe I can remove your eyes to simulate the blindness or remove your tongue to render you mute.

Salem's eyes opened wide as Ranger Manoso pulled out a knife and flashed it within a millimeter of Salem's face. The man screamed in fear.

"You have no trouble torturing others but can't stand it yourself. How much pain did you cause them? The muscle pain going into the sleep was staggering. Then coming out, the burning sensation felt like someone poured kerosene on my body and ignited it."

Ranger took a bandana and tied it around Salem's mouth. Moving to the kerosene lantern, he removed the side plug and poured a minimal amount of the liquid on Salem's pants. With a cigarette lighter then set the pants on fire. Salem's screams were absorbed by the gag.

"The fire will be brief. My pain lasted for months." Ranger continued, "Listen to the storm Salem. It is the sound of your victims calling for justice."

Salem wept as he lost consciousness. There was no reason to keep him alive any longer. Ranger ended his life with a quick stab under the ribs and into the heart.


	14. Chapter 14 The Storm

**A/N: I've fleshed out parts of this chapter. If you've already read it, you don't have to read it again. **

* * *

**Chapter 14 The Storm**

**Stephanie**

My body aches turned to excruciating pain. Moving into numbness was a blessing, though this time it might be my end. Remembering my troubles the trouble closing my eyes before in the library, I shut them early. All I had was my hearing and thoughts. The cinderblock walls muted outside sounds, there were no breezes to lull me to sleep. Unfortunately, the peacefulness was passing. The house's upper level began creaking. Would the house remain intact? It was doubtful.

Gradually the storm's sound penetrated to this lower level. The wind's howling was filled with might and fury. There was no way to dampen the piercing sound. I could not run, hide or even put my hands over my ears. I had to listen and pray I would not go crazy. At least my companions were deeply asleep. Then again, Turner might be waking up.

The noise was as if the gates of Hell creaking open and the screams were those trapped, screaming at me I would soon be joining them. A loud bang and immediate increase in sound told me the house was being torn apart. I heard something fall on the plastic covering over my body but felt nothing. Fearing debris now covered us, would we ever be found, even by rescuers? If these walls failed, would we be washed into the ocean to become dinner for the crocs and sharks? I prayed for sleep, but the sounds and fears were too high. I thought I would lose my mind, but really, what did it matter? Let this end NOW!

In a moment of clarity, Rick filled my mind. Would he come? How many times did Ranger and then Rick rescue me over the years? "Are you hurt Babe?" Nobody else thought to ask, especially Joe Morelli who instead began a rant that threatened his blood pressure risking stroke level. Where is Joe now? Does he finally have the family he so desired? My thoughts went to my family. Were my nieces being raised away from the Burg constrictions? If my father held to his promise to protect them, perhaps they will be happy and well adjusted. Did my mother talk about me? No, I was an embarrassment to her Burg standing. Everything had to be Helen's Way.

Perhaps I slept because I was now aware there was nothing but silence. There were no wind sounds. Nor were there bird sounds. I thought I heard the ocean, but perhaps it was an illusion. Did the walls hold or we now out in the open food for scavengers?

**-0- **

The coordinates on the recently acquired yacht _Crystal Seas_, the former _Nashib, _brought Rick, Angela, Stefan and several of Angela's agents to a decimated island. The navigation coordinates matched. This had to be it. There were no other islands in the vicinity. The map showed a more significant island. Perhaps the storm surge erased part.

The Nashib sailed around the island, keeping out to sea least watching for shoals, an indication the island was not partially submerged. The exposed perimeter in total was slightly less than two miles. There were remnants of a pier extending out into the ocean and deeper water. The map incorrectly showed shallower water. Was this why the island was overlooked? A mapping mistake kept people away. Perhaps that and the fact there was no other island from horizon to horizon. Only four pier posts remained, the planking was gone. Carefully watching his depth gauge and with observers forward and aft, Stefan moved the yacht as close to the shore as possible while watching for debris. When he could get no further, the ship was secured to a wood piling still yards from the shoreline. Hopefully, it would hold the yacht. Just in case two members of Angela's team remained aboard. Angela, Rick, Stefan, and two more men armed with rifles and machetes came ashore in a small rubber raft. The devastation was immense. Only a few palm trees remained standing, the rest lay broken or uprooted. Once dense shrubs had been ripped to shreds. A cobra greeted them on the beach, "Shit, how many of these are there?" Rick asked as he dispatched it with a machete.

"Keep your eye out for crocs," Stefan warned.

Rick thought there now were not enough island or vegetation to protect and support any crocodiles. Hopefully, they abandoned the island looking for new homes.

Several dozen yards from the landing stood a small cinderblock foundation wall, four feet in height stood near at the water's edge. Oily residue floated at the water's edge from a ruptured fuel oil tank. Scattered about were mechanical equipment and pipes. Rick emerged after looking around inside. "It appears to be a desalination plant. The snakes now have a little protection."

A longer roofless building with short walls was not far away. One of the men looked inside, "I didn't check thoroughly, but I suspect this was crew quarters. I see furniture inside."

They continued their island exploration moving inland. The elevation change was not noticeable, but the downed trees impeded their travel. Their passage was slow to avoid risking disturbing a snake or perhaps a croc under the island's litter. Coming to a much larger roofless building. They walked around the perimeter but for no access.

"Apparently the stairway to a second floor blew away in the storm along with whatever was up there. We'll need to make our own access," Angela said.

"We can easily jump up there," Rick said.

"Are you certain what's on the top? It could be broken glass, sharp metal. Be safe and create a quick ladder," Rick's younger but wiser cousin counseled.

The island debris provided the material to create ladders. Seeing the destruction, Rick wondered how powerful a storm it had been. Scientists were still examining data, but most felt it was a level 5, if not a level 6 if there was such a classification.

Angela kept her rifle in hand watching for unfriendly reptiles as the men created access. Several crude ladders were placed on the wall's top. Rick went first, not because he was the leader, but because of what could be behind the walls.

Quickly on top, he checked the wall's stability and signaled down it was safe. He could see the enclosed area was comprised of two rooms, each about 500 square feet in size. Looking into one room he saw storm debris; palm fronds, broken lumber, furniture remnants, and cabinets on one the interior wall. Signaling he needed a long pole for probing, he waited for a bamboo pole to be handed up. There was standing water depth knee deep. If the room had drainage, it was not working. Inching his way across the wall's top, he looked into a second room. There were more broken lumber, palm fronds, water, and something else. It appeared to be a mummy floating above the water. His heart sank. Did the wrapped body indicate all had died? The only way into this room was the same way he got onto the wall.

He and the other men reversed their makeshift ladder allowing Rick to climb down next to the body. The ladder did not do down as deep as the problem. It was resting on something adjacent to the body. The body wasn't floating, it was atop a table or bed. Scurring down he dreaded opening the corpse wrapping. A large sheet of plastic covered but didn't surround the body. It appeared to direct the rain away. Ropes were tied to the table securing the covering as well as the body. Carefully cutting the restraints, he pulled aside the plastic and recognized the face. It was a very emaciated Turner Stevens. His color was white, not the grey of death or decay black. He might be alive. Carefully reaching down to his throat and chest he felt a slow heartbeat. Rick looked up to the wall's top where the rest were waiting and smiled and gave an arm pump. He couldn't speak, though, the emotions were threatening to overcome him.

Hope exploded in Rick's chest that Stephanie was here, also alive. Sloshing through the water mindful of dangers, he moved aside debris and found another table with a body. It was Lester and he, too, was still breathing. He had no time to celebrate, he had to find his wife. The next table held a woman he did not recognize. Like the other two, she was still living. Is Babe here? Looking back and forth in confusion, he had to find her. Lumber, palm frond debris, and broken furniture clogged the rest of the room. Taking a piece of wood, he began carefully poking under the rubble for another table bed. He hit something solid.

Stefan was instantly at his side, and together they started clearing away the debris. On the fourth table lay what he prayed was Stephanie. As Stefan cut the ropes, Rick tore at the plastic. The face was instantly recognized, if not quite a bit thinner. Stephanie, his wife, his life, his heart, and his reason for living. Like the others, she is unresponsive. Her color was right, but he had to check for himself. I felt her carotid and placed a hand on her chest. Her heart was beating, perhaps a bit stronger than the other three. Did Salem wrap them up before he left hoping to return? No, he abandoned them. Rick remembered the bakery box, women's clothing, and Salem's admission; she was a lady. Lester and Turner had only days old beards. Did she shave them? Perhaps she did this preparation and was not yet in the deep coma.

Rick wrapped his arms around the unconscious woman and cried. The stress and anxiety of the months' long search broke free in giant sobs. He did not care if the others thought less of him, only he knew how important she was to his very being. He prayed he would find her and she would avoid the pain of the near-eternal black hell. Here she is! He would never leave her side until she woke up, perhaps many months in the future.

As Stefan loosened the wrapping, he found the plastic box tied to her body. "This must be important."

Angela called from the wall directly above. "I've called for a medevac. How many are alive?" Ranger held up his hand with four fingers, he could not speak for the emotion.

**Stephanie **

I hear something! It sounds like Salem's yacht. Salem is back! Will he now take us away from this dreadful island? Will the blocker still work on me?

For what seems like an eternity, there are no more sounds. Maybe I was dreaming. In the distance, I hear scratching then something moving. Oh, please no, not the crocodiles. My mind wanted my heart to speed up, but the breathing seems to be one steady pace. I have to control myself, or I risk suffocating.

Something is in the room. I hear scratching and tearing. Something is moving through the water! The crocodiles are feeding on the others! I listen to the plastic crinkle close to my years! No, no, no…. Will I feel pain when the croc attacks?

"Oh, Babe..."

Rick is here! I cannot move or communicate. My body wants to vibrate and cheer, but nothing happens. Rick is crying. Does he think I am dead? No Rick, I am alive, I am still alive! My emotions, even in this semi-coma are causing my heart to ache as it wants to beat faster.

There's another close sound, something said. I only catch the word _important_. Did Rick find the journal? Yes, it is very important!

There is a new sound, like a voice far away, "How many are alive?"

I do not hear an answer. I want to know if the others are alive. Answer Rick, say something!

I hear water sloshing and hear different voices, but I feel nothing. Apparently, "Babe, you are light as a feather. We are getting all of you out of here. Stay with us."

A woman's voice says, "They need hydration immediately. Airevac will be here in four hours, we should have enough for all of them in the meantime."

Another voice responds, "We'll prepare a landing site for them."

"Babe, you will be fine. The Navy will get you to a hospital. I'll be with you."

I must have gone to sleep because I'm suddenly awakened by a loud noise. It is familiar, but I can't place it. Is the storm returning? I hear Rick close to my ear, the Navy is here. We are leaving this paradise. Babe, I'm so proud of you, everyone is still alive; Lester, Turner, and Sandra."

If I could cheer, or even smile, I would.

**-0- **

Perhaps as the result of Angela's or even Aunt Madge, a US Navy Knighthawk helicopter was dispatched to the tiny island for the rescue. The rescue operation took all day as much of Mindanao was in havoc and unable to support the big aircraft. Rick went with the four rescued, Angela and the rest returned to Mindanao with the _Crystal Sea_. Due to the cyclone's destruction, the survivors went first to Cebu City and on to Manila where more of Angela's team was waiting. Once deemed stable, the four continued to Texas Medical Center in Houston. Several Medevac jets had been contracted to fly the four, and Rick, to Houston. The first jet arrived with Rick and Stephanie.

Bobby watched Rick get off the small Lear jet. He was never more than a few feet away from Stephanie.

"Rick, you can step back now," Bobby said.

The old Ranger glare was instantly back.

"Let us have her now. All have been brief on what to expect. You need to let us do our job."

Slowly he began to let loose. Months of anguish were pouring off him. His exhaustion was remarkable. Bobby thought he would have a fifth patient.

"There's a private room set aside for you. Go shower, eat, and if possible rest. I'll get you as soon as you can camp out next to her again."

Rick nodded and allowed a nurse to lead him away. On his way, he saw himself in the mirror, except it was Jose. For an instant, he wondered why he was here. Then in a burst of mental clarity, they needed to maintain the charade Jose was her husband. Jose came up and whispered, "Welcome home Cowboy." The name was used in case someone was listening.

Initially, scientists on the East Coast wanted the foursome brought closer to Washington DC. Angela, Bobby, and Enrique-Jose insisted they would be in Texas where Stephanie and Enrique "lived."

Bobby was the first to read Stephanie's journal. He immediately removed the letter to Rick unread and gave it to him privately. In her writings, Stephanie had carefully spelled out the care of each patient and now herself. Her notes on supplies in the laboratory, her observations and thoughts about immunoglobulins and venom jump-started the research.

Bobby appreciated her gradual understanding of the coma. He never knew about Stephanie's love for science, knowing her mostly as the Bombshell Bounty Hunter. Why had she given up a science career? Did she bow to the Burg's expectations? Is that was she was so stubborn to prove herself as a bounty hunter?

Salem never considered a viral or bacterial contaminant. He was convinced the drug, was solely from plants and animals. Immediately the scientists began testing concentrating on the various biological poisons from the reptiles.

There was also the single syringe filled with the blocker, maybe it would hold a clue. Stephanie had refused to inject herself in hopes the blocker would be of some use. Fortunately, it had not degraded over several days without refrigeration.

**-0-**

"Babe, can you hear me?"

"Rick?" I whispered.

"Yes, love."

"Am I dead?"

"No, but you are still under the chemicals. We have brought you back partially only with what remained of the blocker. You are too far under to come back completely. The scientists are working with your notes."

"Others...?" I had to know if the others survived.

"They are still asleep, but well. Babe, I'm right here with you just as you were with me. You will slip back but know it will not be for long. I'm always here."

"...hurts."

"Yes, you are not deeply under. You have some feeling, be strong."

"I knew..."

"Always Babe." He reached over and kissed my lips. Something was wrong. "…..stub…" I whispered. His soft beard was gone he had stubble. I slipped back into the darkness though I could hear Rick every so often, or so I thought.

-0-

One research team worked on replicating the blocker, another on the anti-venoms from the list in Stephanie's journal. The problem was which anti-venom. The chemical formula showed several different venoms with traces within the victims. A third team started looking for the immunity indicators Stephanie had theorized.

Unfortunately, on their own, several scientists were secretly trying to recreate the poison as Aunt Madge had feared months ago. Immediately they were pulled form the project, all their notes and computers were confiscated and destroyed.

In the end, the blocker research stopped, Turner's blood proved to contain the answer. The human body was overcoming the poison and an unknown virus. Turner woke up naturally several weeks after the rescue. He had lost 9 months of his life.

Stephanie was the next to wake. Turner's blood was detoxifying the poisons and virus in her body. Salem had suspected the blocker used to keep her awake was retarding the chemical's effectiveness which is why she was able to remain awake longer between blocker injections. As a result, between her own buffer from the drugs and Turner's, her body never reached the full coma where Lester and Sandra now resided.

Stephanie awakened to the sound of her husband talking to her. It was a glorious sound. She was still groggy but Rick knew she would be concerned about the others. It was a trademark of Stephnie Plum in Trenton and continued to this present. "Turner is awake and receiving physical therapy. Lester and Sandra are receiving transplants of Turner's and your blood. Doctors can only estimate when they might wake. Hopefully, it will be soon. Your research jumped started the hunt. We are all so proud of you, Babe. "

-0-

**Stephanie**

Rick rarely left my side. He helped me walk a step or two at a time, encouraging me to try a few new steps each day. He had a bed in my room so we would rarely be separated. We ate together, though I begged him no fish or cassava.

He chuckled, "I think we will find cassava hard to find here."

We were sitting quietly talking when his cell phone range. Noting the name, he only said, "Yes." He listened then hung up. "Babe, I can't stay here. Someone is coming who must see me. I will be near and return shortly."

For a moment, I thought it might be Salem coming back. I had not yet asked about my kidnapper.

Rick had been gone no more than 30 minutes when an older woman walked in. "Do you remember me?"

I did, or at least I thought I did. My confusion was enough to convince her I didn't.

"My name is Madge, Aunt Madge. You and your husband Jose came to see me months ago. I've come to tell you Salem, the man who kidnapped you, is dead."

"Confirmed?" I hissed.

"Yes. He was trying to duplicate long-lasting anesthesia the natives used on him when he was injured. Without ready access to surgical and orthopedic material, keeping the patient quiet for as long as possible would aid in healing. Initially, it might have been a noble effort or a new business for him. He was already mentally unstable, but ,further deteriorated. The drug became his way to send his enemies into a deep coma to atone for their sins before he would let them die and be judged by a higher power. Stevens and Santos were part of the initial Ranger team sent into Columbian for drug interdiction. Manoso thought he had killed Silvio/Salem in South America, but not quite. The native healers found Salem and restored him. He lived with them, learned their ways with the native plants and animals then modified them for his own use."

"Why did he take me?"

"You were something special to Carlos Manoso. Perhaps he considered you gilding on his Manoso trophy? Then again, maybe he needed a new test subject. We don't know if others were kept awake like you, only to fall away.

The cyclone destroyed the house and lab. We do not believe Turner, Santos and his fiancée would have survived if you had not cared for them. Carlos Manoso didn't have the support they did."

"Sandra. Lester's fiancée's name is Sandra."

She ignored me and continued, "I must commend Carlos Manoso for training such dedicated men for aiding Angela in her search and rescue of you four."

"Did Angela kill Salem?"

"Does it matter to you?"

"No."

"He and most of his crew are gone. A few escaped into the town before the cyclone hit. They were located, but they never knew precisely what Salem was doing on the island. The whole experience terrified them. They thought he was making biological weapons.

This has been a giant fuck up. Several of my staff and others on the Hill are indicted for treason. I'm getting too old for this bull shit. I probably would have been as well except I was running a surveillance on my own team and at the same time keeping one from tipping off Salem. Still, I'll be lucky to retire unscorched. All I crave right now it to move to South Carolina. I'm going to watch the waves and listen to the ocean."

I involuntarily shuddered.

"I'm sorry you were part of this."

"You set me up."

Madge said nothing. "I wish you a speedy recovery, and you and Jose can return to your home on the range in Sabinal. I commend Jose for blurring your location. I assumed it was in New Mexico, but it turns out to be here in Texas. "

Sabinal? What was that? I was wasn't sure if Aunt Madge was testing me or misspoke. Texas was the Burg gossip. Maybe she did not know about Rick after all. I countered with a bluff, "It's not all prairie rangeland."

Madge waved her hand, "I don't care as long as you two are safe and happy."

I said no more and nodded.

-0-

Aunt Madge was leaving the building when she encountered Bobby Brown with Jose, Stephanie's pseudo-husband. "She's a remarkable woman, more intelligent than most people give her credit, courageous, she'd be a good agent."

"Over my dead body," snarled Jose. "She's endured enough, losing Ranger and damn near losing me plus being kidnapped and poisoned for months."

Bobby didn't need to say a thing, his face showed his anger.

After Aunt Madge left, Jose, her supposed husband, and Bobby entered her room. One of the last times Stephanie saw Bobby was in Trenton just after her mother's funeral. Ranger had already returned and was sitting next to her.

Noting the two near lookalike men, Bobby remarked, "In case you don't remember me, I'm not another Enrique, I'm Bobby. We are not married."

Stephanie rolled her eyes, "Did you take over the comedy while Lester was away?"

He chuckled, "No way I can achieve his level, just a poor imitation."

"How is he doing? Any idea when he'll wake up?"

"He's coming around. It would help his transition if he could hear your voice. You were the last one with him before he went under. Sandra isn't near as far along as is he and we will not know her mental state when she does wake up."

"Can you explain something Aunt Madge just said? When we were in her office originally, she thought Jose and I lived in New Mexico. Now she referred to us living somewhere called Sabinal in Texas. What was that all about?"

"Oh what a tangled web we weave," Jose started. "Remember your mother believed you were in Mexico. The people in Trenton thought we lived in Texas because your mother did not want others associating her family with Mexicans. I needed driver's licenses from all three; Texas, New Mexico, and Mexico. Hector used the same town. Sabinal, New Mexico is south of Belen. You and I brought back an FTA from there when you worked for Butler."

I held my head, "Explain it to me in another day when my brain clears."

**-0-**

Rick supported Stephanie as she walked into Lester's room, but he dare not speak. Lester might be awake enough to hear his cousin's voice. Beginning softly Stephanie began, "Lester, I am Stephanie, Bomber. I am here with you. We are home in the US, Texas actually. We are in a hospital. You are coming out of the coma. It will be a bit longer, but I am here with you. Sandra is also getting better. Squeeze my hand if you can. I know it hurts. The more you move, the faster you will return." For hours, she sat and talked to Lester as she moved his arms and rubbed his chest. "I know you want me to rub a little lower, but Sandra is in the next room," she kidded. Rick assured her he was able to hear her for weeks before he woke up, but didn't know who she was until later. Her talking to him provided a pathway back to reality.

"Babe, imagine being stuck in a cave for months having to feel your way out. You want to give up. Maybe many of Salem's victims did give up. But Les is strong, he will find a way out if there is any light or sound. His eyes are open now. He should be able to discern light. In time shapes will appear. Your voice is calming. He will begin to realize he knows the voice and will want to find his way back. You are his beacon as you were mine."

"I remember you took quite a bit of mental healing after."

"Yes, but you were there just as you will be for Lester until Bobby and others can take over. I can't be for him the way I am with Turner now. It is heartbreaking but must be."

"Les can keep a secret," I countered.

"Remember my nightmares? He might say something unintentionally."

Bobby knocked on the door, paused, and walked in. "Has Hector had any luck with the laptop?" Rick asked.

"Aunt Madge has been told it was destroyed," Bobby smiled. "Hector got into it rather quickly and divested Salem's accounts as well as finding names and addresses of illegal drug dealers, black market product dealers, and ISIS activity through Asia."

"Is Angela going to be able to pay for our adventure?" Rick asked

"She's putting the yacht on the market. She should get a tidy profit after paying off the cost of the operation."

**Stephanie**

It took a few weeks before Lester began squeezing my hand. His eyes began to focus on the far wall. They were of him, his family, and friends at Rangeman. He could concentrate on those as his body and mind returned. Rick had told me how helpful it was when he emerged from the coma to have me close by and familiar objects on the walls to force his mind to work again.

Bobby and I were sitting quietly talking when Lester turned his head and looked at us, actually looking from person to person. "Hi there. Remember me?" I asked. "Yes, my hair is short, but it will grow back. Bobby is here too."

"Les," Bobby began, we are both here to help. Sandra is here too but not as awake as you."

Within a few days, Lester was speaking a word or two and moving more than his head and one hand. With Stephanie's constant manipulation in the Philippines and the intense physical therapy here in Texas, he was taking his first step within two weeks. In the meantime, Sandra's eyes were open. She could hear, though her eyes were not yet focusing or her hands squeezing Lester's hands.

Bobby spent hours with Les, working with other mental health professionals in helping him through the mental turmoil. Lester had been through PTSD before and even knowing coping skills, he needed more help. I stopped in every day to assure him we could get over this catastrophe in our lives.

**-0-**

Rick avoided Lester, as he needed to remain "dead." Instead, he spent hours with Turner who had no wife, no family to ease him through the transition. It took Turner about 8 days after waking up to realize Enrique Delgado was actually Ranger Manoso. As Turner's mind continued to clear, Ranger could explain the sordid mess to him.

"We killed him..." Turner whispered.

"I made a mistake. We should have climbed down the cliff and removed his head."

"How many years...?"

"From the beginning briefing to today, eight frigging years." Rick shook his head wondering how many others he had interacted with were still carrying a grudge.

"Will you be Manoso again?" Turner croaked.

"I can't, he's buried in Arlington. My family assumes I'm dead."

"They should know."

"I can't decide. There may be other Salems out there. If they believe I am dead, they will not bother my family. Everyone is safer this way. Anyway, my family is large, somebody might talk."

"Could your parents keep a secret?"

"I believe so."

"Let your parents meet Enrique. Their pain has been the greatest."


	15. Chapter 15 The Reunion

**Chapter 15 Reunion**

Tank strode up the walk to the senior Manoso home. He has known this loving family most of his adult life. He was not sure how they were going to react to his news.

"Pierre," Anton Manoso smiled, "It's always a pleasure to see you." They had known Pierre since their son brought him home during leave from the Army. Anton Manoso, the family patriarch, was in his mid-70's. While no longer rock hard, he was trim. His hair had only recently begun to grey giving him a younger appearance. Tank knew what Rick would look like in the future, now that he probably had a future.

"Pierre, my son, you are family, come to the kitchen, I just made fresh coffee and cake," Marie said as she led the big man. "I miss our family get-togethers. I wish you would come by like you used to."

After sipping his coffee, he started on the lower sugar orange sponge cake Marie knew was his favorite. It was as delicious as ever. Marie let him nearly finish before saying, "Something is on your mind. You men perfected the stone faces, but we mothers know when there's something more."

Tank looked at Marie. About the same age as Anton, but her hair was grayer. She wore it down in a straight bob-cut. She was slender, but then she rarely sat still just like her sister, Ella, the former housekeeper and "first" in command at Rangeman Trenton.

Tank began, "This is the hardest thing I've ever done."

Marie reached out her hand and took his. Her soft, motherly voice counseled, "Go ahead, Pierre."

"Each time Rick left, he'd leave instructions ''protect my family.' He did not need to tell me. Of course, I'll protect you as best Rangeman and I can."

The Manosos were confused but remained quiet. Was there a problem? Why did they need protecting? Their son was gone, dead, buried as a hero at Arlington.

He sipped the last of his coffee. Setting down his mug, "Please forgive me, Angela insisted this was the only way."

Both Marie and Anton caught the reference to Angela Manoso Butler, Anton's niece who long ago had moved to New Mexico with her husband, Nick. They knew she and Nick owned a security company like their son, but that was pretty much it. They waited for Tank to continue. They had raised six children and had a slew of grandchildren. They knew how to be patient.

Tank's voice was quiet, "Rick didn't die. He has been living under an alias."

Anton was stunned, but Marie smiled, sat back, and nodded, "I knew it. Each child has a place in my heart, and all the places are still filled. I've suspected he had to hide."

Tank never understood women's intuition, maybe their brains worked differently than men. "He and his team were sent to Colombia to find a Middle East drug dealer in the Miraflores region who had ties with FARC. He and his team missed their check-ins. Angela and an Army Ranger team found only him and brought him back to the US. He was captured, tortured including chemical experiments. When Angela and the team found him, he was in a coma." Tank paused to bring himself under control.

"For security reasons, Angela gave him a new identity. Doctors did not think he would survive. He was vulnerable in that condition, so Angela, Nick, Bobby, and I decided Carlos Manoso had to _die_ to the world to keep him safe for whatever time he had left."

Both parents sat stunned. Learning their son had been tortured was heart-wrenching, but his coming home in a coma, perhaps never to awaken but not being told, was intolerable. Marie thought Tank was here to tell them their son finally died, but it did not make sense. Why open the wounds again? Second, she had not felt her son's passing. Marie seethed, clamping onto Anton's hand for control.

Tank saw the anger in both of their faces and continued explaining, "Angela knew the man who had poisoned Rick had left Colombia. Even the Government did not know he was still alive. He used various names throughout the world."

Anton cut in, "Nick and Angela are..." Anton did not have the words; agents, spies, operatives.

"Mostly Angela. It must be a Manoso calling." Tank took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He was remembering Ranger, his best friend and commander reduced to a vegetable. "The poison put him into a unique coma, his brain and organs worked by he was paralyzed, no feeling, no movement, he couldn't open his eyes or speak. The doctors said he might or might not be able to hear or think. Maybe he was trapped in a dream state as his brain functions were slowed but remained more active than others in long term comas. The horrors of confinement month after month without physical stimulation must have been torture. Angela called me, and I went out to see him." Tank had to pause again. He preferred not thinking about this dark time.

"He was unresponsive, curled up in a fetal position. The doctors were at a loss. One doctor asked if he had a family, someone who could work with him every day. We could not bring you, we never knew if you were being watched plus he had a new identity. Also, and I'm ashamed to say this, we thought if the large Manoso clan knew Rick was alive, somebody would accidentally let the information out and his life would be in danger again."

Anton jumped to his feet ready to begin a tirade, but Marie reached up and pulled him back down. Spoken words were not necessary. He could see his own pain and anger mirrored in his wife's face. Instead of screaming, she was weeping.

Tank kept his eyes cast on the table, "Rick's girlfriend, Stephanie, was devastated when Rick died. A few weeks later her longtime friend and Rick's rival died in an accident in Alaska. Her family, the Plums, was not supportive. They badgered her, "_If you had married Joe you'd have his house, pension and his children._" She decided to leave Trenton and pain. Nick and Angela came here to meet her and offer her a job but did not tell her about Rick. She moved to Albuquerque and went to work for Nick and Angela as she slowly healed. In the meantime, Rick was showing improvement. Finally, Angela arranged for Stephanie to encounter "accidentally" Rick in the hospital. She began working with him daily, talking to him, moving his arms and legs, trying to find a way to communicate. After several months, he woke. Amazingly, his mind was not damaged, but he could barely move. With hard work, his body began to gain back its strength, but he could no longer be Carlos Manoso. That name was buried in Arlington. Please don't hate Angela or me, we were and are trying to keep him safe and alive from others who might have taken advantage of his vulnerable situation and killed him."

"Is he safe now and happy? Is that why you are here?"

Tank got up and refilled his coffee mug, offering more to Anton and Marie. Sitting down, he resumed, "He and Stephanie married. We thought he was safe, but the man who poisoned him returned to this country to finish his revenge on the remaining men in Rick's original command."

"I thought you said the others were killed."

"Rick made two trips into the area. The first trip they thought they had killed the target and all returned home. When it appeared the target miraculously survived, Rick and a new team returned. It was the second team that was ambushed and killed."

"Lester…," Marie whispered.

"Yes, Lester and Sandra were kidnapped by the same man along with another man that served under Rick. A fourth died in an unrelated automobile accident several years ago. Also, Stephanie was taken."

Marie's hand went to her mouth, "No..."

"Since he took Sandra, we didn't know if he would have come after you which is why I've kept our contact to a minimum. However, you have been under our protection."

"I don't see Rangeman vehicles around?"

Tank smiled, "Your neighbors are Rangeman employees."

"Our neighbors have been spying on us? How many?" Anton asked with some anger.

"Four houses; either side, front, and back."

Marie quickly asked, "Wait, you mean to tell me the Eric Sandoval, the Rodriegez', Rodney and Allen, and the Durant's are all Rangeman?"

"Their relationships are not quite what they seem, only the Rodriegez' are married."

"I was impressed our neighborhood had been blessed with so many young people moving in. They have been so helpful to Anton."

"And they love having the Manosos as neighbors," Tank chuckled. "You've taken good care of them."

Anton pulled Marie and Tank back, "Continue Pierre."

"The three captives were taken to the Philippines to the man's latest home and laboratory. Turner Stevens was already there. Lester and Sandra were put into the coma, Stephanie was also given the poison, but received experiment blockers to keep her awake. She was his test subject but also took over the daily care of Lester, Sandra, and Turner. Behind the man's back Stephanie would sneak into his laboratory and read his journals trying to figure out what the poison was and how to make an antidote, but she ran out of time. The man abandoned them before a cyclone destroyed the island."

Anton groaned. Marie put her hands over her face.

"Rick and Angela were already closing in and found them several days after the cyclone before the four succumb to dehydration. Stephanie secured all her research to her body in a waterproof container. When rescued, scientists immediately continued her research. In the end, Stephanie's observations and the biochemists' research came up with the answers. Turner woke up naturally as had Carlos done earlier. Turner's blood held the key to help Lester, Sandra and Stephanie waking up."

"Oh, thank God!" Marie gasped and crossed herself. "Are they OK?"

"Yes, recovery is slow as the body has been immobile for a long time, but all are recovering."

"The man who did this, is he dead, confirmed dead?" Anton asked.

"Dead confirmed dead. Body buried at sea."

"Like Osama bin Laden."

"Yes but without a religious ceremony."

"But you are afraid if we get back together with Rick, others will start looking for him," Anton said jumping the story ahead.

"But he's my son..." wailed the grieving mother.

Tank felt her anguish. The Manosos was a large, loving family, the loss of Rick and recently _Abuelita Rosa _has been hard on them all. "First of all, there's the Government. Angela, Nick and I could be in serious trouble for the deceptions. Plus, you know the more people are in on the secret, the greater the chances are of exposure. "

"What about Witness Security?"

"We considered it. On their own Rick and Stephanie have created a life more secure than what the government could give them. Second, can you be certain nobody in this family would speak about their long lost brother, uncle Carlos or Rick returning with a new name?"

"No, not everyone. We are a big family," Anton answered.

"Those are his thoughts too, but he would love to see you two again. Angela can arrange for you to see him."

"Where?"

"No, I can't tell you. Angela knows where he and Stephanie live and will take you. But first, you need a legitimate excuse to leave town. Are you still attending the operas in New York?"

"Yes, matinees now, we don't drive at night anymore."

"Good. Tell your family the two of you are going on a tour to the operas in Santa Fe in July."

"He lives in New Mexico?"

"No, but we need to get you far away from your family and to Angela in Albuquerque. Running off to see Angela is a weak story, but going off to the summer operas is stronger. It's best you don't know much least you accidentally say something when you return."

"So New Mexico is only a diversion or are we actually going to the opera?" Marie asked.

Tank chuckled, "You are going to several performances."

Angela Manoso Butler had not seen her aunt and uncle since she married Nick. Tank sent her photos of Marie and Anton Manoso for reference. Angela chuckled when she saw the images, "Obviously." The older couple coming through the Albuquerque airport's secure section appeared to have stopped time. Anton's hair had frosting on the side, but otherwise, he was obviously Rick Manoso's father, older brother, or even a time shift version of Rick. The resemblance was striking. Marie Manoso looked very much like her sister Ella, the former housekeeper at Rangeman. Marie's hair was in a sophisticated bob, wonderfully silver in color. Both husband and wife were trim and athletic.

"Tia, Tio. I'm so happy to see you again and welcome you to New Mexico."

After gathering their luggage, the Angela alerted Nick via text they would be outside shortly. Nick was in the nearby waiting area provided by the city to keep people from parking at the pickup area and clogging traffic. As Angela and the Manosos exited the building, the spacious SUV pulled to the curb. Nick Butler jumped out, but Angela waved him back in, "I've got it dear." Once everyone was safely belted in Angela made the introductions, "Tia Marie, Tio Anton, this is still the same handsome man I married in Newark years ago."

Marie looked at him, "Neither of you has aged. You look like newlyweds. Angela chuckled, "I could say that about you too."

As they drove onto the highway that would take them to Santa Fe sixty miles north, Marie stared out the window, " I never thought I'd come out here! It's so open and... bright."

Angela smiled, "The whole state has only 2 million people. How many live in New York City? Eight million? We have a lot of open space outside the towns. As for the brightness, we are already a mile high like Denver and going higher to Santa Fe. It takes time to adjust to the elevation so we will moderate our activities for a couple of days while you acclimate."

They watched the largest city, Albuquerque, disappear behind them as they entered the open country. The big, sleek SUV hummed along. "This is all Indian land, their various reservations. They are originally farmers and ranchers, but more and more have work jobs Albuquerque, Santa Fe, and even Los Alamos and commute to work."

Anton commented, "Farmers? Where are the fields?"

Angela nodded, "There is limited natural rain, so irrigation water comes from the Rio Grande. The water comes melted from snow in the northern New Mexico and southern Colorado mountains. Most of their fields are right along the river as they have been for centuries. You probably won't see them now that were are beyond the Sandia reservation."

Angela continued, "We have tickets for three nights at the opera. I did not think you would want to do all five, it's quite an endurance trial. This year two performers you will know from the Met. This is like a little off-season vacation for them. During the day we will do light tourist stuff. Between the elevation and long night performances, you will need your sleep.

Arriving in Santa Fe, they were surprised by the lack of tall buildings. "Until recently no buildings could be more than four stories tall. Due to the cost of land, that has been relaxed a bit. Notice the building styles. Most are territorial, pueblo, or a modern variation. Even the state capital looks like a kiva, a religious structure found locally. Over the decades, Santa Fe has been a haven for artists of all types. With around 250 art galleries, art connoisseur is busy.

To beat the rush to eat dinner and get to the opera house, the first night the Butlers and Manosos had an elegant tailgate dinner in the opera's parking lot along with other early birds. The foursome dined al fresco with a white linen tablecloth, gourmet dinner, and wine while admiring the surrounding mountains. The Manosos were enthralled.

"We are missing a candelabra," mused Marie.

"Maybe we could borrow one from the people behind you," Nick winked.

Marie turned around. The gentlemen dressed in the tuxedo, sitting on a folding chair, hoisted his champagne flute in a greet.

Marie turned around, "Are we underdressed?"

Laughing Angela answered, "This is the Santa Fe opera everything goes, diamonds to denim."

The opera house was a surprise. Perhaps expecting a high school comparable auditorium, the Santa Fe Opera is a modern open-air structure built among the hills outside of Santa Fe. The view includes the Sangre de Christo Mountains across the narrow valley and the lights of Los Alamos to the north. One year a forest fire several miles north of the opera house provided an uncomfortably real backdrop for the opera, _Faust._ Hell's fire illuminated the sky when the stage's back was opened for The Devil's entry.

Holding to the tradition of "Monsoon" weather in mid-summer, one evening performance had to compete with rain and thunderstorm. Though roofed, the wind and rain blew in through the open sides forcing the orchestra to huddle closer, but nary was a note missed either from the orchestra pit or from the singers on stage. Those in the audience sitting near the sides received rain blow off. Most came prepared. Angela had obtained tickets safely away from the sides, but now the Manosos understood why Angela insisted they bring warm jackets. The rain dropped the temperature twenty degrees almost instantly. Marie and Anton took it all in good stride.

On the fifth day, everyone met for a late breakfast after a long opera the night before. Angela put down her coffee cup, "Please feel free to continue reporting home, showing pictures, but you need to explain you so love the Southwest, I'm going to take you to other areas around the state. You won't be going, just your phones."

"Phones? Why?" Marie gasped.

"Tomorrow I'll take you to Rick, but you cannot refer to him at all, as we talked about already. Your phones are going on an adventure with people who resemble you. They will send home photos, but mention will be going through areas with no cell phone towers so you will call in a few days. If your family needs must contact you, have them call my office. Anyone tracking you will assume you are playing tourist around the region."

Anton answered, "Take the phones. I hate mine, but I know Marie loves hers."

Very early the next morning they boarded a private aircraft at the small Santa Fe airport. Their cell phones headed to Carlsbad Caverns in the southeast corner of the state. The phones and owners would reunite later. The aircraft windows were covered preventing Marie and Anton from watching the magnificent southern Colorado mountain scenery below and perhaps guessing their final destination. The flight went an extra forty minutes to confuse the Manosos.

The small jet landed at a remote airfield, no terminals, just a hanger, and a waiting vehicle. The small town of Meeker was barely visible. Mountains were far in the distance, the immediate area resembled New Mexico except to a botanist who knew the difference between high desert plants, Great Basin and mountain plants. They drove for nearly two hours, stopped and waited until one of the few vehicles they saw flashed their light as they passed.

"Was he signaling us?" Marie asked.

"Security," Angela answered the unasked question. "We are outside of satellite view now, and we haven't detected drones."

"Drones?"

"We can't be too careful. Angela still did not trust much of Washington DC though she often worked for them.

The Butler party continued for a few miles before turning off onto an unmarked road. It was another hour of twisting and turning, several turnoffs with the final obscure turnoff, probably not noticed by the majority of the people who traveled this remote route.

"Are we lost?" Marie asked.

"No, we are purposely obscure about the route so you can't describe it to anyone. We are entering by way of a back road."

"Angela, we can keep secrets," said an exasperated Marie.

Angela was more worried about someone forcing the information from them in most uncomfortable methods.

Nick turned onto yet another dirt road, crossed a metal cattle guard imbeded in the ground to keep livestock from wandering away. The cattle guard's posts contained a sensor that would notify the home base someone was on the road. They came to a locked security gate. Nick leaned out of the window and put his left-hand index finger against a small piece of plastic on a tree trunk. The gate opened. Anton and Marie looked at each other but said nothing.

The drive was another few miles along a dirt road, and more turns and hidden security cameras before the came to the large two-story log mansion.

"Is this a resort lodge?" Marie asked.

Angela smiled, "It's a ranch house. OK, a big ranch house." A tall man was standing in the parking area ready to take the luggage. He was introduced as Steve, the ranch supervisor. The Butlers were at ease with him; after all, he had been a Butler Security agent in Albuquerque...and technically still was.

The Manosos and Butlers crossed the paved parking area to the front porch. Several rocking chairs were set facing the view down into the valley below. The eight-foot-tall double front doors appeared to be sturdy rough-hewn wood but were the very latest in high-tech security made of carbon polymers. Stephanie opened one door. The Manosos hardly recognized her. The long curly haired woman from sister Ella's pictures and of course at Carlos' funeral was replaced by a more slender woman with short curly hair. Apparently, Stephanie was still dealing with the effects of the kidnapping.

**Stephanie **

I smiled warmly as Angela introduced me as Stephanie, Rick's wife. As Marie hugged me, I whispered, "He's waiting for you inside by the hearth. He's nervous."

Marie and Anton barely noticed the grandeur of the house. The openness was contrary to most of the 20th-century homes on the East Coast. In the middle of the Great Room stood a massive stone fireplace and in front stood a bearded man in a white shirt, tan pants and brown cowboy boots. Off to the side, on their favorite rug were two golden retrievers, Bob and Jacob. Their doggy tails pounded the floor in enthusiasm as they felt the energy in the room.

Marie rushed across the room and with tears flowing, threw her arms around her son, "_Mi Hijo." _She had seen him in a beard before when he would first return from a mission. Abuela Rosa would rag on him, "_Te pareces a Castro."_ (You look like Castro.) Castro was never as handsome.

Anton was only a step behind before he too hugged his long lost son. Angela, Nick, and I joined the dogs off to the side. Right now, I was enjoying seeing family love Rick was born into. I did not remember ever being so welcomed by my family. It wasn't our way and led to many problems I developed early in life. The main one, not feeling worthy.

The parental, grandparent, and sibling love Carlos Manoso received in his youth gave him structure. Yes, he rebelled, but his Grandmother Rosa quickly brought the confused teenager under control. The love remained the bedrock of his being but was covered by life's refuse; the gangs, the Army, and mercenary work. I was proud to be a part of his rebirth and he, in return, demonstrated total love.

"Babe," Rick called. I went to his side and was enveloped in Manoso love. Marie went to Angela and Nick, throwing her arms around them, "Thank you for bringing our son and his wife back to us."

Two days later before breakfast, _Steve's wife Catherine, and Angela announced they were going on a_ _groce_ry run. The principal town was more than 2 hours away. "Don't we have plenty?" Rick asked.

I stepped in, "We could use more. We did not plan for such major vegetable eaters. In truth, we are missing ingredients for a nice Cuban feast."

"Who is cooking that?" he asked.

"When was the last time mother and son cooked together?" Angela asked.

Rick looked off, "It's been so long I don't remember if it with you Mom or Abuela Rosa."

"So as not to break up the reunion, Catherine and I are going. So make your lists, we leave in 45 minutes."

With Catherine leaving, I realized I was on the hook for breakfast. My first meal for my in-laws. The fear must have shown forth because Marie stepped forward, "You keep the coffee flowing and set the table, I'll do the rest."

Out of relief, I gave her a hug, "Your son didn't marry me for my domestic skills."

Ranger and his father moved to the breakfast bar to watch the preparation. Nick excused himself, "I'll go help the foreman feed the horses."

I looked up, "You know about that?"

He came over and squeezed my shoulder, "Remember Corrales where you lived while in Albuquerque? I was born and raised on a dairy farm there. That was way before the area became so populated. I figure feeding horses isn't much different than Holsteins," he chuckled. "Plus I won't have to milk them."

Marie handed me several onions and a knife, "Dice." I acknowledge I could do that, but not well. Rick smiled and came into the kitchen, "Let me take over Babe." I was not trying to look pathetic in the kitchen, but Rick knew what his mother was preparing and knew there'd much to chop.

I took Rick's seat next to Anton, and the four of us enjoyed our time together as the kitchen aromas began making my stomach growl. Anton and Marie kept sipping the coffee. Rick substituted the decaf for the regular when the third pot went to brew.

When the breakfast was served, I stared at the resulting cake-like creation. It was round, several inches high and golden brown. I must have had a confused look on my face: A Manoso serving me a cake made from onions for breakfast. Rick ever aware answered the unasked question, "_Tortilla Española._ A Spanish tortilla is like an Italian _frittata_. Think of this as a proper Spanish omelet, not the version sold in most restaurants. Yellow onions and potatoes are sautéed in olive oil. Well-beaten eggs poured over the vegetables the omelet is cooked both on the stove and in the oven. The peppers are served on the side include plenty of roasted garlic."

Marie divided the omelet into six generous sections as Steve and Nick came to the table. "It is also called _Tortilla de Patatas_ if there are no peppers in sight. Sometimes I put the peppers inside, sometimes outside. My son suggested for you, we'd serve them outside."

I was still stuck somewhere on garlic for breakfast, but one bite and relaxed. Roasting the peppers and garlic first in the oven made them buttery and milder, more complex, the garlic was butter smooth and mild.

After breakfast, Rick needed time alone with his parents. I packed them a picnic basket and Rick and his parents drove away to view the ranch and talk privately. Before leaving Rick whispered he wanted to grill marinated steaks for dinner. I assured him I would get the marinade ready before adding the steaks closer to their return. I freshened up another bedroom as Catherine and Angela were coming back with more than kale and tomatoes.

Surprisingly Catherine and Angela were back before Rick and his parents. The security system indicated someone was on the road to the house. I stood on the porch holding onto one of the roof support posts watching the SUV approach the house. I worried the newcomer would create a problem for Rick. It had been seven years since I've seen Julie, Rick's daughter. We have pictures sent by Angela over the years but not the actual young lady. Did Julie really did look like a female Carlos Manoso as the photos indicated

**-0-**

"Angela, is that Stephanie?" Julie asked as they drew close to the house.

"Yes," Angela said. "As I explained she had a difficult time when kidnapped. Her hair was cut very short, and she lost a lot of weight. She's still a few pounds too light."

Julie would meet her father who she thought was dead and his wife, Stephanie. She still had to pinch herself since Angela came to her college to tell her father was alive. Angela has stressed the importance of not telling other family members. Julie understood immediately, "Somebody would talk, and my father would be in danger again."

The truck had not yet come to a stop when Julie opening the door rushing towards the skinny woman on the porch with the short curly hair, "Stephanie!"

There was no doubt in Stephanie's mind this was Rick's daughter! She had the same mocha-latte skin tone, 5'9", beautiful straight dark hair, athletic build, but most of all, the same face in feminine form. As she ran, using the same panther-smooth movements of her father. She was drop dead gorgeous!

"I still can't believe Dad is still alive. I was devastated when he died. We had only really gotten to know each other for a few years and then..." she started to weep. "How is he? How are YOU?"

"I am doing better each day, and your father has finally gotten past feeling responsible for what happened to me. That has helped me. He is still sad he had to take on a new identity forcing him from his family, especially from you. Angela has kept us informed about you as best she could."

"She was stalking me?" Julie asked, stepping back with a concerned look.

Stephanie laughed. How well she knew stalking from her Trenton days! "A little bit. You were and are always watched by Rangeman Miami. They would send updates to Angela, and she would forward a few to us."

"Rangeman has been watching me?" Julie said with eyes opened a bit more than she planned.

Angela came up behind, "Yes dear, you are Carlos Manoso's daughter. We never knew if you were a target even though your father died."

"And the bastard still went after Lester, sorry for the language," Julie erupted.

Stephanie put her arm around Julie, "I never really got used to the Rangeman patrols and guards either."

Angela laughed, "It's not past tense, my dear, Steve and Catherine are here for a reason."

Julie looked at Stephanie, confused. "Steve and Catherine work for us, but also Angela. They are our ranch hands and security. You are a Manoso, accept it. Your grandparents, aunts, and uncles are under surveillance from time to time."

"I hope Rangeman hasn't seen everything," Julie moaned.

"Please don't tell me you take after your cousin Lester," Stephanie smiled.

Julie laughed, "I've heard about his exploits. Nobody could top him, and I have no intention of trying."

After the suitcase was brought in and the new groceries tucked away in the storage room and axillary refrigerators and freezers, the women, barely had time to get settled when Nick came in, "They are inbound now."

"Where should I be?" Julie asked.

"We should give them a chance to get refreshed first," Stephanie suggested. "You can be in this room off the kitchen and can listen in."

The dining table was set for five. Nick and Angela would be dining tonight with Steven and Catherine. Ever observant Rick said, "Babe who is not eating tonight? The table is set only for five."

I did not know what to say, but Julie was nearby and heard her father's question. She came out from the room she was hiding and said, "That place setting is mine, Dad."

What man would react? Ranger the Army officer and mercenary had been transformed by Salem's cocktail. Though Ranger was buried in Arlington, many parts remained in Enrique Delgado. We had become new people, melding together. He hardened my soft spots, and I smoothed down his rough exterior and chipped away the mercenary's heart. The smile and laughter that was so foreign in Trenton were now just below his surface ready to bubble forth. But that was before Salem served me my cocktail. Through my recovery, the old Ranger reappeared. He was back to the hard, untrusting, questioning man from years ago. When we returned to the ranch, the softer version began to recover. How would he respond to the shock of seeing a daughter he thought he would never see again? He knew his parents were coming and even helped in the arrangements, but this was unexpected.

Marie wanted to embrace her granddaughter. Their time together was always short as Rachel and Ron wanted to limit her exposure to the Manosos. But after Scrog incident, Ron and Rachel relented releasing Julie was a Manoso in mind and spirit and needed their guidance through adolescence and especially through her father's death. Anton held Marie back. This was a private moment between father and daughter.

For a moment I began to worry Rick would be furious for exposing his daughter to danger. I did not need to worry. I looked up, and the surprise combined with the love flowed forth as tears. Carlos Manoso, err, Enrique Delgado was crying.

"Jules," was all he could whisper as his arms went up beckoning her to come to him.

Tears had already begun as Julie rushed to father's arms. "Daddy."

I slipped away and went to Anton and Marie, "Won't you join me on the balcony."

Marie was crying but nodded yes, "I'll bring the tissue box."

We were on the porch admiring the late afternoon light, Anton looked over, "We can't thank you enough…for everything. You two have a wonderful life here, but I sensed in our talks this afternoon Rick still had issues regarding Julie."

"His heart bleeds each time he talks about her. Divorcing Rachel and signing away his parental rights seemed correct at the time, but it has bothered him for years. Fortunately, Rachel allowed him access to Julie, though I suspect his monthly payments helped. Next was the Scrog incident where his very being alive put her in danger. The final blow was waking up in Albuquerque knowing he would never see her again. Angela and I have talked about a reunion with you and Julie. We knew you could keep the secret, but I worried about Julie. Angela said she is more like Carlos Manoso than Rick," I laughed.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for notes regarding our dog. We discovered she has bone cancer in her humerus. She is at least 13 (rescue), large breed (Old English Sheepdog). This is not the first time we've dealt with the disease in our 50 years of large breed dogs (OES, Great Pyrs, Newfs, Saints, and Irish Wolfhound) but each one is heart breaking. She is on pain meds and is doing significantly better. It is day, by day now before we will bid her good bye.


	16. Chapter 16 Home

**Chapter 16 Home**

Sandra Silas and Lester returned to Trenton, scarred. Lester had been through several bouts of PTSD with his military service. He was prepared to work his way through the counseling and programs to get himself right, again.

Sandra, on the other hand, had no previous experience with traumatic stress. Though physically well, mentally she broke down requiring hospitalization. The kidnapping was stressful enough, but the weeks of paralysis, unable to open her eyes or communicate brought unimaginable horrors. She felt damaged and unrepairable. Deep into depression, she told Lester she could not allow him to love a damaged person. Lester did not give up. During her psychiatric treatment, the doctor contacted Stephanie asking her to visit Sandra.

"I'm afraid of the dark," Sandra mumbled to Stephanie.

Knowing how vital physical contact was to her own rehabilitation, she held Sandra's hands. "Of course you are. You were trapped in the darkness far longer than I was."

"How did you deal with it?" she asked with a shaky voice. She hated sounding so weak.

Rick had detailed the horrors during his rehabilitation in the VA hospital. When Stephanie realized she was now under Salem's drugs, she could rally her memories. Knowing the darkness was a probable precursor to death should have caused her to panic, but the indomitable Plum-spirit kicked in: Don't give up. Stephanie could not refer to Ranger at all and had to answer Sandra half-truthfully, "Salem had told me what would happen, that I would die. I was mad enough to fight back. You did not know. No doubt you were confused and frightened."

"I could hear you. You talked to us encouraging us to hang on," Sandra whispered.

Remembering the need to further guard her answer, she replied, "I did not know if you could hear me. Years ago I suffered a head injury and was unconscious in the hospital. I could hear people talking, but I could not talk back or move. I hoped you could too."

"The man who took us, did he ever…with me?"

"No. He had no interest in sex with women. Originally he was only interested in the drugs and their effects. Later he realized he could use them for revenge against his enemies. Carlos Manoso, Turner Stevens, and Lester were part of drug interdiction action in Columbia. They thought they killed Salem, but he survived. He wanted to torture and kill Lester and Turner as he had Ranger. You and I were test subjects. In fact, he purposely did not have his guards on the island help with our care because you and I were women. He did not trust them."

"How do you deal with the aftermath?"

"The nightmares?"

Sandra nodded and started to weep.

Stephanie debated with herself sharing her years of nightmares beginning long before her bounty hunting days. Such a revelation would not help now. Instead, she said, "Initially it was difficult. Every nightmare made the experience fresh and painful. When I woke up, I cried and ran to the toilet and vomited. Gradually I learned to tell myself they were memories and could not harm me. With the help of professionals and Enrique, I packed as much of the fear into a _mental_ box. We tied the box shut, put it on a _mental _boat and watched it sail away. It is not entirely gone from view. I wake up at night trembling, but I calm myself by picturing myself standing on the beach, barely able to see the ship. I turn around and walk into the sun to a new and happy life. The whole process is a mental exercise of putting away those things that can hurt you. There is a new life waiting for you, Sandra. When you have to finish packing away the old experiences and sealing your box. Place it on the ship and send it away. Only then can you start anew."

"Does it return?"

"No, but perhaps you need to sink the boat in your mind or even blow it up, so it is gone forever."

Stephanie never experienced the long, dark period. She had remained aware, never having to live within her mind without stimulation. The hopeful words she gave Sandra were a mix of Rick's and her own. In the end, Sandra came to the same conclusion as Salem, Rick, and Lester. The experience had sent her to a type of Purgatory and cleansed her of her past sins. As she recovered, Lester was at her side as I had been for Rick. They decided to proceed with their wedding plans.

Lester sat with Bobby, "I can't believe I don't want a bacchanalian blow-out bachelor party. Man, I am getting old. For years all I've heard is "Les, your bachelor party will be memorable if not illegal."

"So what do you want, Les?" Bobby asked. "Do you even want a bachelor party?"

"I would like a man's night, not in a bar, but at my house, in the Man Cave comprised of as many original Trenton team members as we can assemble. It will be an assembly of friends."

"What you mean original team?"

"The major Trenton Rangemen; Hal, Cal, Ram, Manny, and so on."

"You know, Les, Ranger won't be there."

"We can put his picture front and center and pretend he is there, drinking toasts in his honor. He never said much anyway, so the silence would be appropriate," he almost smiled. "I know I said man's night, but I would also like to invite Stephanie and Ella. They are as much of the original team as the guys. Ella took care of our needs. Stephanie knocked off our rough corners. Do you know where she lives in Texas?"

"I can contact Angela. She knows," answered Bobby regretfully having to Rick and Stephanie's secret. "What about Stephanie's husband, Enrique?"

Les looked off. "Yeah, her husband could come. He is not my cousin. Plus, if she is still a lousy drinker, he'll have to be the designated driver. She was the two drink wonder."

Rangeman had expanded to begin infilling between Boston and Miami. In addition to the natural expansion from Trenton to Newark and Philadelphia, they were now in Pittsburgh and Richmond. Ram, Manny, and Eric headed up the new Mid-Atlantic offices. Rangeman Atlanta had moved into the Carolinas. Miami now covered the entire state. Trenton remained the corporate headquarters with Tank, Bobby, Lester, and Hector in command.

The men congregated in Les' Man Cave to reminisce and celebrate his upcoming wedding. Once the location for semi-rowdy parties, Les' house now became the location for cards, discussions, movies or sports with good friends. With all the cars removed, the garage, space became a basketball court. Though most of the original Rangeman were over 35 and some nearing 45, they still enjoyed the hoops.

Stephanie and Enrique-Jose's arrival was a giant hug fest. Each Rangeman carefully hugged and kissed her as they had nearly two years prior after her mother's funeral. Now her actions saving Lester and Sandra brought her to near sainthood in the men's eyes.

Most had met Enrique at the Helen Plum funeral. Those who missed the event had been schooled how Enrique resembled Ranger. "Hey Marine," Ram said as he slapped Enrique on the back. "There's way too much Army here, glad to have a fellow jar-head here."

Stephanie smiled at how quickly the men took to Enrique. She looked around, "Am I the only woman here?"

"I'm here," Ella called from the kitchen as she came running to greet Stephanie and met her husband. Ella was warned how Enrique resembled Carlos Manoso but was still stunned.

Enrique had rolled up his shirtsleeves to reveal his Marine tattoo. "I'm the Marine, ma'am," he said quietly with a pseudo-Texan accent, not a Cuban-Jersey accent.

The food and drinks flowed freely. Perhaps hearkening back to the Friday nights at Pino's, most stuck with beer instead of hard liquor. Beer bottles were raised often as they saluted their former leader, Ranger Manoso.

Laughter and tears flowed as quickly as the beer. Early discussions were about military training or missions they could share. Perhaps the most humorous for Stephanie was hearing about Rick's basic training. "The skinny Rutgers kid was constantly picked on the by training instructors and often punished until he learned to shut up. Actually, his mouth was so active, it took his mates, in particular, one Tank Sherman to beat the crap out of him," Hal reminisced.

Tank shook his head, "That boy had a mouth. I believe my greatest accomplishment in the Army was shutting that flapper up. Once he quit flapping, he turned out to be one hell of a soldier."

"You did too a job, Tank," Hal commented. At one point, Ranger went 67 hours without speaking. We finally had to concede a grunt was as good as a word."

"Speaking or not, he was one hell of a leader," Bobby commented and raised his beer bottle.

"Remember when he came back after meeting Bomber?" Lester laughed. "He looked like a deer caught in headlights. I saw him in firefights looking less frightened than he did after meeting you, Steph."

Tank was chuckling, "Better yet, remember when he was called to her apartment a day later. He came back smitten." Turning to Stephanie, he asked, "What happened in that short time?"

Stephanie then went to tell them about being handcuffed to the shower curtain rod. Now she could laugh about it, but even just a couple of years ago, she would have never shared this with her friends and Rangeman family. This evening they all laughed together.

Initially, the men and Ella were assigned to take care of her, but over the years, she became family, caring for them the way they cared for her. She was stubborn about her escorts believing she could handle herself.

"I was mad you thought me so incompetent. Yeah, my cars were torched or blown up, and I did require several attempts at the capture, but I did get my skips, eventually."

"It was more than the cars, Bomber. Stiva's funeral home burning down, Stiva's cabinet, Atlantic City, and of course the bridge all come to mind," Bobby added.

"I didn't want to be a bother. After all, teaming up with me often got someone injured, Tank's leg for example."

Tank rubbed his chest, "I got shot twice working guarding your ass."

"I assumed nobody wanted to be teamed up with me least they end up in the hospital, or worse."

Hal chuckled, "I learned my lesson when you stunned me in the garage. Never underestimate Bomber's ability to cause pain or discomfort. That didn't stop me from coming with you, though."

"Because it was hazard-duty pay, an extra 50% per hour," Tank reminded them."

As the stories continued, Jose laughed, but when they got to the bridge incident, his eyes widened. "You could have been killed."

"Any number of times, dear, but I had Rangeman and a hefty dose of luck on my side."

Jose shook his head, "How did so many of your cars blow up?"

"I never knew completely. OK, the Porsche had a bomb underneath that went off when the garbage truck sideswiped us. Being flattened by the falling garbage truck was decoration. The rocket launcher was obvious as well as the various Malatov cocktails. The rests were homemade explosive devices or leaky fuel lines. My cars were not always the most mechanically secure. Curious, once I left Trenton, my cars quit exploding, so maybe I pissed off the Jersey Giant."

Enrique kissed Stephanie temple, "I'm glad my Hellcat didn't explode. Excuse me, dear, the beer rules." Rising Jose disappeared. After a suitable time, Rick stepped into the room dressed exactly like Jose. At first, nobody noticed the switch. Rick went over to the sofa and sat. He reached out and pulled Stephanie onto his lap and began kissing her temple. Everyone's eyes were on the movement reminiscent of Ranger and Stephanie from years ago. The room quieted. How dare they steal that move especially in front of the men.

Cal, one of the few who knew Ranger was still alive, looked at "Jose" carefully and then broke into a huge smile. "May I get you a beer, Ranger?"

Rick grumbled, "I told you before, I'm no longer Ranger. My name is now Enrique or Rick."

"I'll get it, Hal," Jose called from the back of the room. He grabbed a bottle, opened it and took it to Ranger. The men watched in amazement, heads swinging back and forth between Jose and Rick.

Before a thousand questions were asked, Tank stepped in front of the group, "Gentlemen, for reasons of national security and keeping Bobby's and my ass out of federal prison, what you are about to hear is CLASSIFIED. Do you understand?"

Tank heard silence. Resorting back to military mode Tank bellowed, "I can't hear you."

Immediately a loud "Sir, yes sir," was heard.

"Gentlemen, let me introduce you to Jose Castillo, an employee of Butler Security in Albuquerque. The second man is the real Enrique or Rick Delgado, but you once knew him by another name."

Lester stood dumbfounded for a moment. Stephanie sensing Rick was about to be overwhelmed by Les, wisely stood and moved closer to Jose. Rick stood said in a quiet voice, "I'm sorry Les."

Les quickly moved to embrace his cousin he had grown up with and thought dead. His sobs were totally unLester-like. Even Rick began to tear up as he patted his cousin's back murmuring, "I never wanted to hurt you."

Eventually, Lester's tears ebbed, and the anger came forward. He was ready to hit somebody, actual multiple somebodies. Turning to Tank, he screamed, "How long have you known?"

Bobby moved closer to Tank and spoke, "Les, we are going to explain." Turning to the group, "Get comfortable, this will take time."

Before the explanation could begin, Ella returned from the pantry carrying a metal tray with food. As she walked towards the men, she was surprised to see two men, two Stephanie husbands. Rick turned to her and quietly said, "Tia Ella."

The dish fell noisily to the floor when she saw her nephew she thought deal. In a squeal followed by tears, she ran across the room into Rick's arms.

Pulling his aunt next to him and Stephanie returning to his lap, the next hour Bobby, Tank, Rick, Hector, and Stephanie told parts of the Grand Deception including the treason committed by high-ranking Washington employees.

Lester jumped up, "I remember, you told me Ranger survived. I thought I dreamed it."

"Les, I had to give you and Sandra hope that it would end well, but I could not let Salem hear me."

"You knew it would end well?" he asked astonished.

She shook her head, "No, I figured we'd all die."

"Can I tell Sandra?"

Stephanie, Rick, Tank, and Bobby shook their heads no.

"So who else knew?" Ram asked.

Bobby answered, "Initially only Angela and Nick Butler, Tank, and me. We felt the fewer that knew, the better the secret."

"But I'm family," Les began.

"And exactly the reason it was kept from you, Les. The Manoso and Santos families are large. One slip and it would spread like wildfire."

"Ah, I do have a high-security rating, remember? I know how to keep a secret."

"It was my call, Les," Bobby said. "You did not take his death well and weren't reliable for a while. It killed me to deny you the knowledge, I'm sorry."

Rick spoke up, "Only recently have my folks and Julie learned."

"So that's it until now?"

Stephanie spoke, "Actually my father knows. He popped up in Albuquerque soon after Rick was released from the VA. We hoped the beard disguise would work. It did not. It was when we launched the deception with Jose."

"So I've heard Bomber lives in Mexico with a goat farmer or in Texas. What's the deal?" Manny asked.

Rick answered, "It was mostly Frank Plum's idea. We had no idea it would work as well as it did. Another Butler employee who does not look like Jose or me agreed to stand for photographs with a goat. Frank Plum stood away from the camera laughing. If I remember, he also was in several photos with a big smile. Helen Plum misunderstood Frank saying Stephanie was in NEW Mexico, thinking her daughter was married to a goat farmer in Mexico. Helen had a fit and tore up the pictures before anyone else saw them. Apparently, Texas was Helen's attempt to cover her daughter's despicable life."

"I could never do anything to please that woman," Stephanie huffed.

Rick continued, "You were never meant to meet Jose. We considered not coming to the funeral, but Stephanie insisted. I wasn't about to send her unaccompanied. After all, this is Trenton, and the Bombshell was returning. When Stephanie and Jose showed up for Helen's funeral, the word around the Burg was Stephanie, and her husband lived in Texas. We had to continue the charade here. We weren't sure how you and the Burg would take to Jose resembling me, thank you for accepting him so quickly. Thank God for the Marine tattoo."

Jose smiled, "Ooorah."

Stephanie jumped it, "Don't forget the fake Texas accent too."

"You aren't from Texas?" Ram asked.

"Nope, I'm from Albuquerque but originally from West Los Angeles."

"Jose was one of Stephanie's trainers in Albuquerque. She saw the resemblance. Jose and I have different jawlines, so we wear beards to cover the difference. Angela and I, well especially I was…and still am, concerned someone from my past will recognize me. Jose is my replacement when Enrique Delgado needs to be seen in public."

"But isn't Jose younger than you boss?" Cal asked.

"Initially we were even more alike, but this past year has been hard on me. So yes, technically Babe is a cougar with a younger husband from time to time."

"So do you live in Texas?" Ramon asked.

Stephanie smiled, "That answer is behind door number three which shall remain locked."

"From the moment I woke up from the coma and found out I was no longer Carlos Manoso or Ranger, I felt empty. I am not sure I would have made it if Babe had not been with me. You can imagine my anguish when she was kidnapped," he said quietly grabbing hold to Stephanie and pulling her close. "I died a thousand deaths looking for her."

Cal spoke, "So in the Trenton office, Hector figured it out, and Hal and I found out when you came to Haywood while Jose was there. That was all?"

Tank nodded.

"That was one bizarre day," Cal said as he shook his head. "I thought I was hallucinating. I knew Enrique Delgado was upstairs next to Bobby's apartment. In walks this cowboy in boots and hat claiming to be Enrique. He called Hal and me by name even referring to a special tattoo. Then the retinal scan showed Carlos Manoso. Sorry guys, we were ordered not to share the information."

Manny was the first to walk up to Rick and shake his hand and give him a warm hug. Then one by one, each man had to greet their former boss.

Les stood to the side, "I don't know who we should take to the mats. Bobby, Tank, or Rick."

Bobby said quietly, "Don't forget Hector. He figured everything out when he recognized some of Rick's coding on a computer war game."

"War game?"

Rick looked up, "I did it before we moved to the ranch. I had no money and did not want to spend all of Stephanie's money from my life insurance. My on-line beta-tester turned out to be Hector," Rick said shaking his head. "He never identified himself and never said he knew who I was until I came back to Haywood."

Hector smiled, "I taught him most of what he knows about coding. He had the combat experience."

"Is that when you started speaking English?" Bink asked.

"Que?" Hector sassed back.

Bobby smiled at Hector's humor and explained, "Hector went through an emotional upheaving when Bomber left so soon after Ranger's death. We all did. Hector worked out his hidden demons and came to us with fresh new ideas for Rangeman. You have seen how successful they have become. We realized we had to get him out of the basement and into a leadership role.

Rubbing his still bald head, Tank said, "If I had hair, it would be white. It began with Ranger missing, then Ranger coming back a comatose vegetable. There was a quiet period when he recovered and married Stephanie. When Salem was back in the picture taking Stephanie, Les, and Sandra, I had a hell of a dilemma. Every one of the offices wanted to divert resources and field teams to find them. We had to keep a low profile to protect Rick, but also to keep the Washington traitors from tipping off Salem. Bobby darn near walked into a trap if he had gone to Africa for research. That was one of Salem's laboratories."

Tank finished up, "I remind you again Carlos Manoso, Ranger is buried in Arlington. If the government finds out otherwise, Bobby, Angela, Nick, and I will be in prison, and Rick and Stephanie will be on the run again. Washington will never be traitor free. These two have created a new life _Home on the Range_ under the name Enrique Delgado. Let them enjoy it and pray no more Salems are out there."

"Amen," Rick uttered.

**-0-**

Stephanie attended Lester's wedding on Jose's arm. There were enough other Manosos the real husband might be recognized. As before in Trenton, the sibling Mansos gasped at Jose's resemblance to Carlos Manoso.

Celia, Ranger's oldest sister, commented, "I've looked carefully, you are not my brother. You are several years too young."

"Yes, ma'am," Jose said with an enhanced Texas accent. "Plus I have a tattoo. From what others have told me, Carlos Manoso would not defile his body in such a manner."

The reception continued for hours. Nobody noticed Marie and Anton Manoso and Julie quietly slipped away from the party to have a private visit with their son and father.

**Back Home on the Range**

Autumn is an all too brief, but colorful season in the Colorado mountains. Unlike the hardwood forests of the East and their many colorful fall foliage plants, the West relies on two plants for brilliant color, the oaks in the lower elevations and the Quaking Aspen in the higher regions. Rick and Stephanie packed a picnic lunch and drove to one of the ranch's richest aspen concentration to view the golden yellow foliage before the snows arrived. Taking each other's hand, they strolled along a wildlife path. They did not speak for a while.

Stephanie spoke first, "When I was trapped on that island I would try to picture this vista. I've been home for three months but I wasn't ready to come here. Perhaps I feared all this would bring back the horror."

Pausing, they looked out at the vista. Rick spoke first, "Babe, are you happy here?"

She caught herself going into the old Stephanie mode of trying to formulate an answer that the asker wanted to hear. It was part of her maturation process to answer truthfully and not shade the answer to what she thought the asker wanted. "Rick, I love the ranch. But what I love the most is being with you no matter where we are."

"Do you feel….trapped here with me?"

She was shocked at the question. "No, no no. I know trapped. I was trapped in the Burg life by people who insisted I be someone foreign to me. I was truly trapped on that island knowing I would never see you again. Life with you is freedom. Freedom to feel honestly and fully, not worrying about adhering to other's expectations. You have always encouraged me to spread my wings, but I could only do it with you beside me. You accepted me for all my faults, never criticizing."

"I wanted to show you the world, someday."

"Rick, you are my world. What would I want to see? Oceans and tropical islands give me nightmares. Big cities are noisy and filled with too many people. The mountains are right here," she said sweeping her hand to the view. "Are you questioning our life here?"

"I'm more content here than anywhere else I've been in my life. Maybe a small part still doesn't believe I am worthy of this."

"You have worked hard for this ranch."

"No, I was referring to you, our life together."

"If you had any reason to doubt us, the past adventure should have convinced you the entire universe is in favor of us being together. It took us time to get to this point. Fourteen years since we met in that little café in Trenton and you agreed to be my Harry Higgins. It has been an interesting journey, to say the least."

"Are you sorry we never had children?

She paused and looked out at the scenery. "Sometimes I wonder what a little Rick would be like, our little Rick. But while your super-sperm are fresh and raring to swim, my eggs are now tired and begun to mutate. In my last physical, Bobby said I need to be concerned about possible future effects of Salem's experiments. To answer your question, no I am not sorry to be childless. What about you?"

He smiled, "I have a wonderful daughter." He gazed off at the mountains beyond, "Yes, I too wonder about a little Rick, but if he had a little of me in him, I would not want him to live the life I had."

She squeezed his hand, "Had, the life Ranger had. We have both been reborn. This is our life now."

"Trial by fire?" He asked.

"Yes, we have melded into something better than each of us was before."

"Do you want to go back East?"

"I miss seeing my Merry Men but they are dispersed between Newark to Philadelphia, and I suspect future Rangeman sites. Like Hal, they are building their own lives just as we have done. I suspect Tank and Bobby will continue coming out for hunting season, maybe they can bring Les and Hector for a man's getaway. Julie and your parents are likely to come again as well. I would like to see Daddy again."

He groaned, "So much for privacy."

She looked around, "It looks pretty private here." Putting him closer and lowering his face to her lips she said, "Let's make the eagles jealous."

Softly he lowered her to the ground and together they found a new way to fly.

End.

A/N: Thank you for journeying with me on this adventure and especially for those with comments and suggestions that kept me on track. Pox on FF who prevented me from posting this last chapter promptly thanks to the spam-fiasco. My story jar is empty. It will be some time before I post again. Eleni

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